


Say My Name

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Canon, Drama, Episode Related, Gap Filler, Inspired by Real Events, Points of View, Romance, Season/Series 04, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-01
Updated: 2005-05-06
Packaged: 2018-12-29 02:14:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 38,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12072468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: And now, for something completely different.   It's not exactly RPS. It's not exactly Sci-Fi. But Brian & Justin are definately caught in the middle.





	1. How it Happened

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

“You said you’d think about it.”

 

“I will.”

 

“Then why are we headed up here?”

 

“I do my best thinking in bed.”

 

“Bullshit.”

 

“It’s not bullshit. I think about whether you’ve been naughty or nice. I think about which toys we haven’t used in a while.  
I think about how far I can stick my-”

 

“Just forget it.”

 

“Come on.”

 

“I said forget it.”

 

“Wait a second-”

 

“Let go-”

 

“FUCK!”


	2. A  Whole New World

A chill ran up Justin’s spine. He was so cold.

 

He was moving. He didn’t know why. The world, in all its darkness, turned on its side.

 

A warm hand came to rest on his back. 

 

Another cold wave washed over him.

 

_Oh._

 

The world was sideways because he was sideways. On the floor?

 

Cold rolled up Justin’s spine and drove a painful, icy spike into the back of his head.

 

Justin grabbed for his brain but the pain ignited and spread too quickly. He moaned for a second, then swallowed the sound when he felt his own voice making the pain worse. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for his agony to pass.

 

Justin first heard the voices when the pain began to subside. They were speaking in hushed tones. Gradually, the noise in Justin’s head quieted. The mumbling began to make sense to his ears.

 

“Grab that blanket…”

 

“Here he comes…”

 

“…makes you five for five Ga…”

 

“Shut the f...”

 

“How bout… alm down.”

 

The hand on Justin’s back moved to his shoulder. It slid up and down his arm soothingly. 

 

Justin pushed through the darkness and focused on the voice before him. He opened his eyes. The world was black and white, but slowly softened to browns and yellows. Other colors followed. 

 

The man kneeling with him had a young pie face with black, no brown hair. His cheeks were lightly freckled and his brown eyes were worried. It was his hand on Justin’s shoulder. “Hey, welcome back.”

 

Justin was grateful he was speaking quietly. He closed his eyes to give them a rest and opened them again, still unable to focus completely. He saw the man smile a little. “You scared the shit out of us.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“We had a little accident. Do you know where you are?”

 

Justin blinked more, still no focus. “Loft.”

 

“Good enough.” Justin felt two sets of hands helping him sit up. The duvet from the bed covered him. “Easy, take it slow now.”

 

Justin spent a long moment trying to breathe through his nausea. “Where’s Brian?”

 

“Brian’s back in the scene, Kiddo,” commented the bearded man with reddish-brown hair to Justin’s left.

 

Justin watched the man force a nervous smile and it dawned on him. “Who are you?”

 

“It’s me, it’s Thom.”

 

Justin studied the man beside him, certain he’s never seen this guy before in his life. He was way too old and way too average to be someone he and Brian would bring home. “Where’s Brian, where are my clothes?”

 

“Randy, take it easy.”

 

Justin turned towards the familiar voice and saw Brian before him for the first time. He knelt completely still beside the doorway to the bedroom, chewing on his fingertips. His face was a welcomed site, but his expression was foreign to Justin. He looked… scared.

 

“Brian!” Justin scrambled to his feet and hurdled himself forward, knowing Brian would be there if he could just cross the short distance between them. “Brian, what’s going on?”

 

“Randy, it’s Gale.”

 

“Who are these guys?” Justin demanded, wondering why Brian was holding him at arm’s length.

 

The man with freckles took a step towards the couple. “Randy, I’m Alex, the director.”

 

“Director of what?” Justin kept looking back to Brian, waiting for him to explain.

 

Alex seemed taken aback. “Director of the show,” he said slowly.

 

“What show? Brian?”

 

“Our TV show, Randy.”

 

“Who the fuck is Randy?” Justin wanted that Thom guy to stop staring at him.

 

“You’re Randy. Think about it for a minute,” Brian said anxiously.

 

Justin tried to think but the throbbing in his head make it hard. “I’m Justin.”

 

“Justin is your character. Your name is Randy.”

 

Arguing was making him dizzy, aggravated. “My name is Justin!”

 

“Randy, Justin doesn’t exist,” Brian said firmly.

 

“Gale…”

 

Justine stared into Brian’s face, dumbstruck. “What do you mean I don’t exist?” He saw regret slowly creep into Brian’s already fearful face. In fact the longer Justin looked, the less he seemed like Brian at all. “What the fuck Brian?”

 

When Brian didn’t explain himself, Justin pushed away from him. He couldn’t focus his vision, but he knew he wanted to be away from all of them. “That’s a really shitty thing to say.” 

 

“Randy be careful,” Alex said moving towards him.

 

“This isn’t fuckin’ funny,” Justin shouted at Brian, backing away.

 

“No one’s trying to be funny,” Justin heard Brian say.

 

“Randy watch it.”

 

Justin’s own shout resounded harshly in his head, shattering his equilibrium. He swayed backward and brushed against a light, burning his shoulder. “Ow, shit!”

 

The new pain instantly brought Justin’s attention to his semi-familiar surroundings. The light that burned him was one in a row of amber lights angled through the window towards the bedroom. Justin looked past the three men and saw the huge camera on the tripod where Brian’s desk used to be. He saw another set of lights, mounted on stands, waiting in front of the dark windows where the city skyline should have been visible through the translucent drapes. 

 

The bustle of feet rose at the loft door, followed by the entrance of two more men and a large blonde women. “What happened? Where’s Randy?”

 

Justin shrank back the same moment the Thom guy turned to intercept them. He threw his hands up.   
“Dan, don’t. Wait there.”

 

“Justin, listen to me.” Justin watched Brian take a step forward. He stood up straight to his full height. The simple move puffed his chest out and rolled his shoulders back. Justin watched Brian’s eyes hone in on his face. The fearful look was replaced by Brian’s usual confident, indecipherable façade. He simply transformed before Justin’s eyes. “Are you listening?”

 

Brian’s voice was clear and commanding now. This was Brian. Justin was comforted, and confused and dizzy. Couldn’t bring the world into focus.

 

“There are lights and cables everywhere, and you’re gonna hurt yourself. I need you to come here to me.”

 

This was Brian, right? He seems more himself than he did a minute ago. But why was he saying need?   
Brian never needs-

 

“Hey, look at me!”

 

Justin lifted his head. Didn’t know it had been sagging downward until Brian called to him. Brian took another step forward. “Come to me, now.” 

 

Justin watched Brian hold his hand out. He knew he didn’t have a choice. Brian wouldn’t tell him the wrong thing to do, would he? And Justin knew if he were to remain standing, he needed Brian’s sure arms to hold him up. 

 

Concentrating on Brian, Justin moved forward. The floor was bumpy with wiring that Justin didn’t remember navigating to reach the corner he found himself in. He stepped slowly, keeping his eyes trained on Brian’s face. Until his lover’s image began to swim, splitting in two then three then two again. Justin reached out to try and grab one of the hands floating before him.

 

“Randy!”

 

Justin vaguely realized Brian was lunging forward when he murmured, “My name’s not…”

 

Justin’s world went dark.


	3. Denial

When Justin went tumbling backwards down the two seemingly harmless steps, Brian was forced to witness the  
fall while powerless to stop it all happening.

 

He couldn’t reach out fast enough.

 

Brian had watched Justin landed flat on his back, his head hitting the floor with a nasty loud thud, his back slapping  
against the wood, his eyes bouncing shut, his breath pushed out of him on impact.

 

Brian couldn’t be sure how many seconds he stood held by the shocking image of Justin lying unconscious on  
the floor before he moved.

 

Brian shook Justin gently, calling his name. Then harder, fighting panic.

 

Justin didn’t move.

 

_Shit. Move him to the bed. No, wait. Don’t move him. He could be hurt somewhere else._

 

Brian ran to the bathroom, returning with a damp washcloth. He dabbed at Justin’s face, calling his name.  
“Justin? Come on Justin, open your eyes! Justin!”

 

Justin’s eyes didn’t open. Lips slightly parted. Still.

 

_Call 911. How long will that take?_ “Fuck it!”

 

Brian grabbed the duvet from the bed and spread it over Justin’s half naked body. He rested a hand in Justin’s chest,  
needing to feel Justin's breathing and heartbeat against his palm.

 

Brian ran to the bedroom and jammed his legs into the first pair of jeans he saw.

 

When he heard the small moan coming from below, his hands yanked on the zipper of his pants, inadvertently  
catching some pubes in its teeth.

 

Brian swore with a gasped, but only felt the pain a split second. He couldn’t help the limp that followed as he scrambled  
down the landing to Justin’s side.

 

Brian watched Justin squeeze his eyes tight, roll onto his side and grab the back of his head in one fluid motion.

 

Kneeling over him, Brian rested a reassuring hand on Justin’s shoulder. “Justin?... Justin?...”

 

“Gimme a minute,” Justin groaned quietly.

 

Brian’s overwhelming relief was quickly vanquished by an acute helplessness. He dashed to the freezer and grabbed  
the ACE cold pack. He carefully slipped the gelatin compress between Justin’s hand and head. Next he tenderly  
eased a pillow under Justin’s head and shoulders. Actions Justin himself seemed oblivious to. His eyes remained  
pressed shut, his hand pressing the blue cold compress to the back of his head.

 

Brian sat on the floor next to Justin, gently placed a hand on his back, and waited.

 

How could he have miscalculated the weight and feel of a body he turned and flipped and fondled a million times?

 

Brian wanted to grab Justin, to hold him, to test his limbs and body so he would know for himself that Justin  
was actually all right. He settled for rubbing his thumb along Justin’s back. It seemed to be helping. Brian watched  
Justin’s brow unknot and his shoulders relax.

 

Brian waited.

 

Justin opened his eyes. “Hey.”

 

“Hey.” Brian couldn’t think of anything to say. He was just so happy to see Justin’s beautiful blue eyes again.

 

Quietly, Justin started to laugh.

 

“What’s so funny?” Brian asked nervously.

 

“Your face.” Justin said, his own face sporadically shifting between grimace and grin. “You should see  
your face. Ouch…”

 

Brian was feeling every emotion in the spectrum at the moment, so he could only guess what his expression looked like.  
It made Justin laugh. That’s all that mattered. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

 

Justin’s smile faded a little. Brian saw a strange melancholy settle over Justin's features as he looked up at him.  
“Now you tell me.”

 

Brian could only imagine what Justin meant by that. “Are you OK?”

 

“I think so.” Brian and Justin reached for each other at the same moment. Brian watched and waited while Justin  
reoriented himself to his sitting position. “Where is everyone?”

 

“Who were you expecting Sunshine?”

 

“For starters, the crew.”

 

“Did you invite them over to watch us fuck? Because somehow, I don’t think the Munchers would be interested.”

 

“Very funny Gale.”

 

Brian watched as Justin suddenly grabbed his head, grunted and shrank under a new wave of pain. He snatched  
up the discarded cold compress and helped Justin hold it to his head.

 

“Seriously, where is everyone?”

 

“Justin, what are you talking about?”

 

“Where is everyone?” he insisted. “Where’s Alex? Where’s Thom? Where’s my fucking robe? Were we rehearsing?  
We were shooting, weren’t we?”

 

Brian watched Justin stare back at him. He hadn’t the faintest idea what the hell Justin was talking about.

 

“Justin, we’re going to the hospital.”

 

“Why are you still calling me Justin?”

 

“Because it’s your name.”

 

“Last time I checked, Randy was working out just fine. Quit fucking around Gale. Quit fucking around Alex! Ow!”  
The sound of Justin’s own shout seemed to hurt him. “I bet Thom is hiding on a corner somewhere with that  
fucking video camera, isn’t he?”

 

“Justin…”

 

“God, couldn’t you guys at least wait till I can think straight? What the hell happened anyway?”

 

“I dropped you.”

 

Justin closed his eyes and chuckled. “It’s official. You’ve dropped me all five seasons. I’m proud of you Gale.  
Who says you can’t finish things? I knew you could do it. Although my back and my head want to kick your ass  
right now.”

 

Brian became more worried by the second. “Justin, do you know where you are?”

 

“Yes, Gale. I’m on a set with a couple of assholes who play too much.” Justin looked around the empty loft.  
“Can I get a glass of water? I’m starting not to feel so good.”

 

“Justin, listen to me. You’re in the loft. You’re at my place. And there’s no one here but us.”

 

“The loft, huh?” Justin smiled a crooked smile that Brian had never seen before. “You guys just can’t stop fuckin’  
around, can you?”

 

Brian decided to play along. “Fine, you caught me. I’m fucking with you.” Brian strolled quickly to the bedroom and grabbed  
Justin’s pants off the floor. “Now here, put these on.”

 

Brian barely turned round when he heard the loft door roll open.

 

“You fixed the door. Nice touch.” Justin said, already headed down the stairs.

 

Brian tried not to run as he watched Justin descend the stairs. “If we were in a real loft, these steps…” Justin  
leaned against the wall of the first landing, his grin wavered. “…would lead somewhere.”

 

Brian saw Justin’s confusion mounting. Justin was obviously off-balance. The last place he should be is anywhere  
near a staircase.

 

“When did they build this?”

 

It sounded more like a demand to Brian than a question. Brian tried to keep sight of Justin as he jogged down the  
next stairs and the next and the next. He was already outside when Brian reached the bottom. He stood just outside  
the building door wearing only his gray jockeys.

 

Barefooted and shirtless, Brian watched from behind as Justin shook his head, looking up in disbelief. Brian tracked  
his gaze. He seemed to be looking at the street sign. Tremont Street.

 

Justin held his head in his hands, winded. “This can’t be right. It can’t be.”

 

A jogger with a collie was the only person on the street when Brian firmly grabbed Justin by the waist and pulled him  
back into the building. “The last thing you need is pneumonia to go with a concussion. Me either for that matter.”

 

Brian waited as Justin turn to face him. He held tight to Brian’s arms. “This can’t be right.”

 

Brian saw Justin’s face lose all expression as he quietly passed out.


	4. Strangers & Bed Partners

**Author’s Note:** _I Do Not Know, Have Not Met, Nor Ever Made Contact With Gale Harold Or Randy Harrison. It’s All Fiction Kids!_ **  
__________________________________________________________________________________________________**

 

**Gale's POV**

 

That last pothole jarred everyone in the car.

 

Gale felt fingers grasp anew to his shirt. The arms around his torso braced against him. The low painful sigh was  
not heard beyond the back seat he shared with his scene partner.

 

He watched the blonde head rise slowly from his chest, watched the blue eyes open, searching for something to  
focus on.

 

“Brian?”

 

“It’s alright. We’re almost there.”

 

“Stop the shaking…”

 

“Don’t talk, Ran.”

 

“Brian, ma…make it stop.”

 

“Don’t talk.” Gale gently pushed the young man’s head back against his shoulder. “Close your eyes, Randy.  
We’re almost there.”

 

Instinctively, Gale kissed his partner’s head and immediately felt the tense body next to him relax with a single sigh.

 

It felt strange. When you’re acting, and you find a rhythm and you’re in the moment, it feels so real. And you feel  
pride as an actor because you successfully manufactured a truthful moment for the camera. But after nearly five  
years of playing out the most intimate, most explicit of scenes together, this incident dwarfed all the perfect takes  
and faux emotions he and Randy had experienced together. All of it was a mere shadow of truth for Gale now.

 

Real is the goose egg forming on the back of Randy’s head. Truth is the fact that your partner, your colleague,  
your friend, doesn’t know who you are.

 

Gale knew he wouldn’t be able to make things right with Randy now, even if he wanted to. After this, an apology  
would be so empty, laughable even. Yeah, he fucked things up good.

 

Gale replaced the ice-filled Ziploc against his partner’s head and threw an anxious glare towards the SUV’s  
front windshield.

 

_How long does it take to go eight fucking blocks!?_

**  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

 

**Randy's POV**

 

He knew exactly where he was when he opened his eyes. Or did he?

 

The bed was the same. The air around him felt the same.

 

The ceiling was wrong.

 

Of all the times he fake-fucked in this bed, never had he seen stained wooden rafters overhead.

 

“Where’s the lighting grid?” he asked, not realizing he had whispered his thoughts aloud.

 

Randy felt a weight on the bed and slowly, Gale came into view, leaning over him, searching him with  
Brian’s predatory gaze. “Hey.”

 

“Hey,” Randy answered back.

 

Gale leaned in and kissed Randy slowly on the lips. He pulled away slow, like Brian does when casting  
his spell over Justin.

 

_Oh shit, are we doing a scene?_  
That kiss was definitely Brian, Gale never gives me tongue.  
Shit my head hurts. Did I zone out again? 

 

Gale smiled at him, a sweet Brian-ly smile.

 

Randy bit his lower lip, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know where we are.”

 

“It’s OK. Can you sit up?”

 

To Randy’s surprise, even with help, the act of sitting up took great effort. He squirmed in his black pants. They were  
fitting weird, like someone else had put them on him.

 

Randy looked around the loft, expecting to hear “cut” from somewhere. He scanned the entire apartment. There were  
no lights, no cameras, no one, except Gale, who walked towards him with Justin’s red sweatshirt that zipped up  
the front.

 

“I’m ready for you this time,” Gale said quietly, flashing Brian’s prop keys on his right middle finger.

 

“Gale, what’s going on?”

 

“Nothing’s going on Justin.”

 

“Then call me Randy!”

 

“Nothing’s going on Randy. Put this on.”

 

Randy couldn’t understand why Gale was still in character. Or why he heard traffic coming from the living  
room windows where he knew there _were no_ actually windows, just painted flats. Or why his head hurt so  
much. His eyes connected with the loft door as Gale worked his left arm into the sweater, and remembered.

 

“This isn’t happening.”

 

“If you say so. Gimme your other arm.”

 

Randy sat recalling his last moments of consciousness while Gale dressed me. “I’m gonna grab your shoes, then we’ll go.”

 

“Where are we going?”

 

“Hospital, genius.”

 

The moment Gale stepped aside, Randy eased off the bed and walked to the bathroom. To his surprise, the light  
switch worked when he tried it. He knew the shower would work, he’d been in there enough. He went to the sink.  
Running cold water. Running _hot water_. The toilet flushed and refilled. “That can’t be right.” He flushed it again,  
then flushed again, then flushed again.

 

“Are you ready?”

 

Gale stood at the bathroom door, looking gorgeous as "Brian" always did in his Prada sweater and Brian's  
leather jacket. A pair of worn white Nikes hung from the fingertips of Gale's right hand.

 

Finally, Randy silently started to fume. He didn’t know how the producers had orchestrated all this, or even why. But he  
decided he would end this charade, right now.

 

He walked forward, took the sneakers from Gale and tossed them aside. His serious gaze fixed on Gale’s face. “Fuck me.”  



	5. Waking Dreams

Brian’s presence was the only thing Justin was vaguely certain of. There were people and doctors and machines  
and hospital sounds. He woke and drifted off many times. But whenever he did wake and flexed his right hand,  
it would close around Brian’s hand.

 

Everything was better after that shot they gave him. The world had dimmed into a serene fear-free place. He barely  
noticed the endless X-rays of his brain and the continual flashing of pin lights in his eyes and the handling  
and repositioning of his body by countless rubber gloved hands. He didn’t even mind the endless parade of  
strangers popping into his face, all chanting the same mantra, “Try to stay awake, Randy.”

 

_Who’s Randy?_

 

None of it mattered. He would squeeze, and Brian would squeeze back.

 

Justin couldn’t remember the last time Brian smiled so much. Or Brian _ever_ smiling so much. Maybe his eyes were  
playing tricks on him. Or maybe it was that the world was totally fuzzed out. Or he was drugged out. Didn’t matter.  
He was here. Squeeze. Squeeze back.

 

Gentle darkness.

 

 

 

“… anything like it.”

“…already suffering… psychosis.”

“…tor Adams, 4-19. Doctor Adams, line 4-9...”

“Where’s his family? It could help if he spoke to a family member.”

“We’re working on it.”

 

“Try harder Danny.”

 

Justin opened his eyes when he heard Brian’s voice. It was almost a whisper, but Justin immediately picked it out  
from the other voices in the room. Brian was close.

 

It took a couple tried before his eyes would stay open. He felt clear, even though his vision was still fuzzy and soft.  
It helped to squint, but not much. Justin decided he would worry about that later. He took in his surroundings,  
as best he could, while trying to think who Danny could be.

 

There were at least two rooms because Justin saw three figures moving before him in the distance. Their words  
drifted in and out of earshot.

 

_Danny who? Who was Danny?_

 

The room was so bright that Justin was surprised he had slept at all. Several pillows propped him up in bed.  
Most things around him were whites, which didn’t help when he tried to discern floors from walls, walls from  
curtains, sheets from his own skin. His inability to focus properly didn’t help either.

 

_My hands…_

 

A hand laid on top of his. Brian’s hand.

 

He sat in a chair beside the bed with his back to the figures in the distance. He looked straight ahead, lost in thought.  
He wore an ensemble Justin had never seen before: worn, torn blue jeans, a black Member’s Only jacket and a  
black T-shirt that had a huge red stain across the front.

 

Justin saw the fuzzy worry on Brian’s face and rubbed his thumb against Brian’s, a small test of his mobility.

 

He watched Brian absentmindedly rubbed his hand back, looked at their hands, then finally look into his face.  
The blurry relief on Brian’s face was so sweet. Justin turned his palm over so Brian’s hand rested in his. He  
put on the brightest smile he could in his fatigued state, hoping Brian would find it contagious.

 

He did. And sat up in his chair, and rested a hand on Justin’s shoulder.

 

“How long have I been out?”

 

“Not long. I’m supposed to try and keep you awake, but I thought you could use a break while they think up more  
tests to give you.”

 

“Lucky me.” Justin wanted to kiss Brian, but he wasn’t ready to try sitting up all the way. Instead, he interlaced his  
fingers with Brian’s, and that’s when he saw it. The dirt between Brian’s fingers. Mr. Immaculate missed a spot.

 

_See, he does need me._ Justin gave a little smile and began rubbing his thumb against Brian’s middle finger.

 

“I think you’re gonna need more than spit and commitment to get that off Ran Man.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“That’s my tattoo.”

 

Justin squinted. The markings were starting to look more like letters. “You got another tattoo?”

 

“You remember that night at The Hole when we swapped tattoo stories.”

 

“The hole?”

 

“Just the two of us. First and only time I ever saw you drunk off your ass.”

 

Justin sat up in bed, a little worried. He was sure he was awake this time. Brian was looking at him with such  
anticipation. “I told you about mine and you told me about yours.”

 

“About my what?”

 

“Your tattoo.”

 

“I don’t have a tattoo.”

 

Brian anticipation shifted to disappointment. “Look at your shoulder.”

 

Brian nodded and Justin shot his left arm a look, only to see a bandage where he thought he remembered burning  
himself on… something.

 

Justin watched Brian spy the bandage and then raise an eyebrow skeptically. “Well, that’s convenient.”

 

“How are you feeling?”

 

Justin didn’t notice the trio from the distance, two men and one woman, until they were at the foot of his bed. He wasn’t  
sure which of the fuzzy figures had spoken. “I’m OK.”

 

“Is your head still bothering you?”

 

“It’s better. I can’t… I can’t really see. Everything’s blurry.”

 

“Here. Try these.”

 

Justin watched Brian reach into his jacket pocket and pull out wire rimmed glasses. “What are these?”

 

“Just try’em.”

 

Justin took the glasses Brian, squinting. They were Versace. They were simple, but classy.

 

Justin hesitated, then put them on quickly. He looked up and saw a clear, sharply focused Brian beside him. His shirt  
was actually navy blue and the stain Justin saw was a logo that read “The Smiths”. The three figures before him were  
now a man in a white lab coat, a woman in a business skirt with glasses and a clipboard, and another man that  
Justin thought he remembered from the loft.

 

Justin took the glasses off, totally weirded out. He looked around but the world instantly lost focus.

 

He put them on again and saw he was in the center of a hospital room with three beds parked against a wall. The curtains  
separating the beds were green. The gown he wore was a creamy yellow and his sheets were indeed white with  
a faint blue floral print.

 

The connecting room was an open area with a bed that had lights all around it. The light box on the far wall had  
X-rays of someone’s skull and neck, probably his.

“I don’t understand. I don’t wear glasses.”

 

“Well since they’re working, why don’t we keep them on for now, shall we?” The doctor suggested. “I’m Dr. Adams.  
This is Dr. Helen Shaw. Can we ask you some questions?”

 

“Sure.” Justin heard a hint of an accent in the doctor’s words, but couldn’t place it.

 

Squeeze. Squeeze back.

 

“Can you tell me your name?”

 

“Justin Taylor.”

 

“How old are you?”

 

“Almost 21.”

 

“And where do you live?”

 

“Here, Pittsburgh.”

 

“Do you know who this man is beside me?”

 

Justin took a good look at this man. His eyes were huge and worried, his hair short and scraggly. Justin thought  
the man’s double chin made him look older than he probably was, though he could stand to lose a few pounds.  
Still, aside from the spilt second at the loft, there was nothing familiar about him. “No.”

 

“Do you know who the man is beside you?”

 

“That’s Brian.” Justin smiled, but only briefly. Brian didn’t seem to like any of his answers.

 

 

“Can you tell me who’s the president of the United States?”

 

“George W. God help us.”

 

Justin noticed Dr. Shaw writing furiously as the interrogation continued.

 

“Do you remember what happened to you?”

 

“Not really.”

 

“Can you try? Just think about it for a second.”

 

Justin took a long time, trying to find the moments in his head. “I think… I think we were having a fight.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Me and Brian.”

 

“A fight?”

 

“Maybe…Not really a fight. An argument. I think we might have been disagreeing." Justin felt Brian squeeze his  
hand unprompted. "But I’m not really sure… I do remember… all that.”

 

“I need you to wait outside.”

 

Justin suddenly realized Adams was addressing Brian. “I want him to stay.”

 

“He can come back later.”

 

“I’ll be outside.” Brian gave Justin a half smile that was not quite his usual smirk. He nodded and waited for Justin  
to nod back before squeezing his wrist and leaving the room.

 

Justin watched his lover go. The door had barely shut before he kicked into defensive mode. “If this is going where  
I think it is, don’t go there. Brian doesn’t hurt me. I’m sure, whatever happened, it was an accident.”

 

“We know it was an accident. There were other people there. They saw what happened,” the man from the loft volunteered.

 

Justin thought about the two men that were there when he woke. Who were they anyway? Why were they even there?

 

Dr. Adams took Brian’s chair. “I’m gonna tell you a few things. I need you to let me finish. OK?”

 

_That doesn’t sound good._ “OK.”

 

“You took a fall and suffered a blow to the head. Your X-ray don’t indicate any permanent damage. But there is some swelling.  
You lost consciousness for a few minutes and you’ve lost some memory.”

 

“What memories?”

 

Justin watched the doctor lean in. “Your name is not Justin Taylor. It’s Randy Harrison.”

 

“What the fuck are you talking about? I know my own name.”

 

“Of all the questions I just asked you, you only got one of them correct.”

 

“They’re all correct.” Justin said indignantly.

 

“Randy, you agreed to listen.”

 

“But my name is Justin!”

 

“Please, let me finish.”

 

Justin could feel his heart pounding against his chest. He hoped it was a joke, but the trio were all watching him somberly.  
Justin took a breath to calm himself. He sat back in bed and waited.

 

“Your name is Randy. You’re twenty-seven years old, and you’ll be twenty-eight this fall. You’re an actor. Justin is  
the character you play on a TV show. You are in Queensway Memorial Hospital, in Toronto Canada, where you  
film the show. This is Daniel Lipman, he’s one of the producers on the show.”

 

_Danny._ Justin waited until he was sure the doctor had finished. “What are you talking about?”

 

“I know it’s hard to accept right now but try to remember.”

 

“What am I supposed to remember? This is all bullshit!”

 

“Randy, you were on set when it happened. You were in character when it happened.” Dr. Shaw commented.

 

“No, you’re wrong. Where’s Brian? Brian’ll tell you.”

 

Justin watched Adams inch closer. “The man who just left is not Brian. His name is Gale.”

 

Justin rolled his eyes. “That was Brian.”

 

“His name is Gale Harold. He works with you on the show. He plays the character Brian, you play the character Justin.”

 

“No.” Justin crossed his arms. “This is some weird mistake.”

 

“Randy wears glasses. Those glasses. When he’s not wearing glasses, he wears contacts.”

 

Dr. Shaw’s words shook Justin’s confidence. “Tell Brian to come back. Tell him to come back! Who the fuck are  
you any way?”

 

“I’m the hospital shrink.”

 

“Fabulous.”

 

“Did you and Brian have a fight?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Did you argue?”

 

“I told you, no more than usual. He’s really moody if you haven’t noticed.”

 

“Who’s fault was it?”

 

“Who’s fault was what?”

 

“The argument.”

 

Justin didn’t like that this mousey-eyed bitch was asking the questions now. She was a composite of all the authority  
figures he ever hated in high school. Condescending, stiff, self-righteous. He took a long moment to decide if he would  
even continue talking to her. “I don’t know. Both of our probably. But we’ll get passed it, we always do.”

 

“Can you tell me what you two disagreed about?”

 

“I honestly don’t remember… I don’t know.”

 

“But you’re pretty sure you two were having an argument?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“How do you know?”

 

“Because he had that look on his face just now.”

 

“A look?”

 

“Yeah, like he’s trying to figure out what he can say or do without actually apologizing.”

 

Justin watched Daniel smile involuntarily. Like he knew the shit Brian was capable of too. How could he know that?  
Did he know Brian?

 

Justin watched Adams nod to Daniel. “Randy, we’ve got a box here with some things in it.”

 

“My name’s not Randy.”

 

“Just for the sake of argument, let’s call you Randy, for now.” Adams was vastly more diplomatic than Shaw. He didn’t  
seem to be trying to catch him in a lie, so Justin made an effort not to be pissy with him. “I want you to try and be open  
to the things you’re about to see and read. Dan is gonna stay here with you to help if any of it triggers something  
for you.”

 

Justin eyed the white box in Daniel’s hands. It was a perfectly normal white storage box with lid. But it made him nervous.  
“I want Brian to come back.”

 

“I think it’s best that someone who knows you stays with you. Someone you don’t know from your life in the show.”

 

“What’s in the box?” Justin said with false disinterest.

 

“Just look through it. Dr. Shaw and I will be by to talk with you about it later.”

 

“You don’t have to stay,” Justin said to Daniel as he replaced Dr. Adams in the chair.

 

“Do you want me to leave?” the man said quietly.

 

“Yes.”

 

The man named Daniel seemed genuinely hurt by Justin’s request. But Justin needed to be alone. No more questions,  
no more prodding. No more staring, accusing looks. He needed solitude before he actually did go out of his mind.

 

Daniel watched Justin a long moment, as if willing him to change his mind. Finally, he nodded. "OK, sure."

 

The trio of figures silently shuffled out of the room.

 

The white box sat beside Justin on the bed. He reached up to dig his palms into his tired eyes and accidentally  
smashed the glasses against his face. “Ouch.”

 

Frustrated, Justin grabbed the glasses from his face and threw them violently onto the bed.

 

A fuzzy veil fell over the world. “What the fuck?”

 

The blurry white cube sat innocently on the bed beside him, blending into the sheets.

 

Reluctantly, he replaced the glasses on his face and flicked the lid off the white box, half expecting something  
to leap out at him.

 

The box was filled with all sorts of items: photos, a wallet, magazines, a yearbook. The first thing Justin brought  
from the box was a script:

 

_**  
Queer as Folk (USA)** _

_**Pilot** _

_**Written by  
Ron Cowen and Daniel Lipman** _

_****_

 

_Don’t they mean Gay as Blazes?_

 

Justin gave the box a second glance before turning to the page in the script with the pink post-it.


	6. Bargaining

“Fuck you?”

 

“Yeah, fuck me.”

 

Brian didn’t know what to make of Justin’s playful grin. The twink was sailing through moods faster than the backroom  
of Babylon went through condoms.

 

He rested his hands on Justin’s shoulders and smile down at him. “Sure. We’ll go get your head examined, and  
when we get back, I’ll ride you like there’s no tomorrow.”

 

Justin twisted free of the arm Brian was easing around his shoulders. “Fuck me now.”

 

Brian sighed. This was getting really fucking old. “Justin-”

 

“Don’t you want to, _Brian_?” Justin slipped his red sweater off his shoulders, walked backward towards the bed.

 

Brian didn’t like the way Justin turned his name into a taunt. Other people did that, not Justin.

 

“Oh, come on Brian. You always wanna fuck.”

 

It had been a while since Justin challenged him so adamantly. Brian saw mischief in Justin’s eyes that he hadn’t  
seen in a while. “Justin, you need to have a doctor look at you, now.”

 

“Fuck me, then we’ll go.”

 

“Hospital first.”

 

“Fuck first. Unless you don’t want to. _Brian Kinney._ ”

 

He did it again. That thing with his voice and Brian’s name. It quickly spent Brian’s patience. “Alright, fine.”

 

“Fine.” Justin answered, then suddenly seemed worried at what he just agreed to.

 

Brian returned Justin stare with a shrug of indifference. “Well? You want me to fuck you standing?”

 

Brian watched Justin think for a moment. “No.”

 

With a short hesitation, Justin stepped out of his pants and crawled into bed. He laid on his stomach and wrapped  
his arms around a pillow.

 

Brian thought Justin looked really grateful to be horizontal. He wasn’t sure what kind of pride issues Justin  
must have had happening in his head. But the moment he saw Justin trying to hide his exhaustion, Brian instantly  
let go of his aggravation, stripped and went to the task of giving Justin a quick yet satisfying poke.

 

To Brian's surprised, Justin tensed when he climbed on top of him. So he went slower. He placed a hand on each of Justin’s shoulders and went to work, beginning under Justin’s right ear, kissing down his neck.

 

Justin didn’t try to kiss him. Still tense. Brian went slower, painting a masterpiece of sucklings and kisses down Justin’s back with his tongue and lips.

 

Brian dragged his hands along Justin’s body. He licked and sucked relentlessly into the small nape just above  
his ass. When Justin let go a short gasp, Brian knew he was ready. He used his teeth and thumbs to pull off Justin’s  
underwear. He reached and retrieved the lube and a condom from the nightstand without even looking. He slathered  
the clear gelatin on Justin’s hole, making him gasped again.

 

This time Justin looked back. He seemed surprised, apprehensive to Brian touching him there. Shades of how he  
first was after the bashing. Brian suddenly understood how this new injury could have awakened Justin's old trauma.  
Slowly, never breaking eye contact with Justin, Brian sheathed himself with a condom, then gently laid himself on  
top of the twink.

 

He rested his chin on Justin’s shoulder and leaned his head against Justin’s. “Are you sure?”

 

Brian watched Justin force an uncertain grin. “Are you?”

 

Brian spent a few minutes kissing Justin’s neck before leaning back and positioning his cock at Justin’s pucker.  
He leaned in, readying once, twice… Brian pushed forward with a firm thrust of his hips.

 

He was in Justin only seconds when Justin yelped. “Gale! _What the fuck!!_ ”

 

“What?”

 

Justin squirmed wildly from beneath him, crawling to the head of the bed with his back against the wall, grabbing  
for sheets to cover himself. “What do you think you’re doing?”

 

“I thought we were gonna fuck.”

 

“You were really gonna _fuck_ me!” Justin said indignantly.

 

Brian knelt in the middle of the bed. “Yeah?”

 

“You can’t fuck me!”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Who do you think you-- Jesus Christ Gale!”

 

“Who the fuck is Gale?”

 

Brian watched Justin stare, transfixed by the sight before him. “What happened to your dick?”

 

Brian looked down at his cock, standing at attention effortlessly. “What about it?”

 

“It’s huge.”

 

“And?”

 

“What did you do?”

 

“Justin, you’ve seen my cock a thousand times.”

 

Mesmerized, Justin reached forward. He pinched the reservoir and carefully pulled the condom. When the rubber  
stretched with ease but wouldn’t slide off Brian’s dick, he abandoned the task and simply took Brian’s dick in his hand.  
He ran his fingers along its considerable length. “Fuck me, it’s real.”

 

“Isn’t that what we were about to do?”

 

Wrapping his fingers around it, “Christ, you’re even hard.”

 

“When am I not?”

 

Brian watched Justin grab his forehead and withdraw inward. “This is real. I’m really here. Oh shit.”

 

“Justin…”

 

“Don’t call me that. My name’s not Justin.”

 

Brian sighed. Mood shift number forty-seven. “What the fuck is it then?”

 

“My name is Randy. Randy Harrison.”

 

“Since when?”

 

“Since birth. How the fuck did I get in the show?”

 

Brian watched helplessly as Justin manic state escalated. “Justin, what show?”

 

“The show! The… Could you put that thing away?”

 

Justin gestured towards Brian’s cock, still erect and ready for action.

 

“So now you don’t wanna fuck?”

 

Justin looked into Brian’s face, then looked down at his waiting cock. “You’re Brian Kinney. And if all this is happening  
in the pure mythology of the show, it’s not possible for us to have bad sex. Which means it would probably be amazing.  
And if the tiniest part of me wants to stay here, I may not be able to get back. So, as tempting as it kind of is, stay away  
from me with that thing.”

 

Justin held the sheet to himself as he crawled down the bed to retrieve his clothes from the floor.

 

“Well, if we’re not gonna fuck, let’s head to the hospital.” Brian reached for his clothes as well.

 

“Forget it,” Justin spat.

 

“Justin, we had a deal.”

 

“We didn’t fuck, there’s no deal,” he insisted, yanking his pant on. “There’s no way you’re dragging me to some  
imaginary hospital where the doctors aren’t even real.”

 

“Justin, have you completely lost your mind?” Brian asked, grabbing for his own pants.

 

“No, just everything else.”

 

Justin ran from the bedroom as Brian pulled his sweater over his head. He heard the cutlery draw open from the  
bedroom. By the time he ascended the two steps into the dining room, Justin was already standing in the kitchen,  
one hand flat on the counter top, the other holding a fork posed over it.

 

“Justin no!”

 

Justin squeezed his eyes shut and jabbed himself with the fork. “Ouch! Ow-ow. OW!” He dropped the fork and  
danced around the kitchen, franticly wagging his hand.

 

“Justin! Jesus Christ!” Brian grabbed Justin hand and examined the palm. Four pronounced red dots rose in his hand,  
but no blood drawn.

 

“Pinch me,” Justin demanded.

 

Brian looked from the damaged hand to Justin’s desperate eyes. “No!”

 

“Pinch me hard!”

 

Brian took hold of Justin’s other hand and shook him firmly. “Justin, you need to calm the fuck down.”

 

“You don’t understand.” Justin pleaded, his breathing heavy, his eyes slowly filling with dread. “I can’t be here.  
I need to wake up. I need to wake up!”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

Brian hung up the phone and placed it on the counter. He walked to the end of the island and grabbed a joint out of  
his full tin. He flicked the lighter and brought it to the joint, and stopped.

 

Across the loft, Justin was pacing the length of the living room. Still.

 

He considered for a long moment, then let the lighter go out.

 

Brian needed a hit as badly as Justin needed him right now. And since he couldn’t take the chance that a joint would  
mellow him out too much…

 

Brian put the joint away and grabbed a Marlboro. He stood smoking in the kitchen, watching Justin until he felt he  
had wrangled enough patience to re-engage Justin’s delirium. He headed towards the living room, where Justin  
paced, talking to himself. Brian was determined that this time, he would make sense of Justin’s babble.

 

“Why is this happening to me?” Justin demanded.

 

“Because you’re the damsel, shits always happening to you.” Justin answered himself.

 

Justin dug his fingers into his hair. “It’s not fucking fair.”

 

The room ended and Justin turned about. “It’s what you signed up for. You knew that from the start.”

 

“I never signed up for this shit though.”  
“It’s like being stuck in a bad episode of Three’s Company.”  
“R.I.P. John Ritter though.”  
“What the fuck am I talking about?”

 

“Yeah. What the fuck are you talking about?”

 

Brian watched Justin from the desk. Justin began to speak, then changed his mind. “You wouldn’t understand.”

 

“Try me.”

 

“You won’t believe me.”

 

“How can you know that if you won’t told me anything?” Brian was impressed with his own patience.

 

Apparently, so was Justin. He finally stood still and met Brian’s eyes. “I’m not Justin.”

 

“OK.”

 

“My name is Randy.”

 

“OK.”

 

“I… I play Justin.”

 

“I’m still listening.”

 

“I’m an actor and I play Justin in the show.”

 

Brian worked hard to hide all reaction from Justin. He couldn’t let on that he didn’t believe a single word. “OK.”

 

“My name is Randy, I’m an actor and somehow… I got _into_ the show.”

 

“What show?”

 

“It’s called Queer as Folk. It’s on Showtime.”

 

“Right,” Brian nodded impassively. _Queer as folk. No coincidence there._ “So where’s Justin?”

 

“I don’t know,” Justin said simply. “I mean, technically, I’m him, so he’s here, he’s me but…I don’t know.”

 

Brian watched Justin begin to pace again. He buried his head in his hands.

 

“You know how this sounds.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“You tried to impale yourself with a fork a minute ago.”

 

“Yeah. I think I freaked out a little bit.”

 

_A little bit?_ “And you know you were knocked unconscious less than an hour ago.”

 

“Yes, I know. That's probably when it happened. Look, you have to believe me.”

 

“I want to Justin. But if-”

 

“My name’s not Justin-”

 

“If what you say is true, what are we supposed to do?”

 

Justin stopped pacing. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

 

Brian became concerned by how small Justin voice had gotten. He couldn’t see Justin face so he crossed the room  
and moved Justin’s hands away, replacing them with his. “Hey, stay awake, ok?”

 

Justin looked up. “Why?”

 

“Because you probably have a concussion, Justin. If you won’t let me take you to the hospital, then you’re supposed  
to stay awake at least eight hours.”

 

Justin pulled away. “Who told you to keep me awake? Was it the shrink you consulted after Justin got bashed?”

 

Brian thought back. The good doctor. Boy did he get a great fuck for helping out. “No.”

 

Brian could see Justin ramping up to a pace again. “What it the candy stripper you bumped into the night Gus  
was born?”

 

Brian looked at Justin warily. “No.”

 

“How about the orderly you were fooling around with when Ted came out of his coma?”

 

“What is this, Brian Kinney’s greatest hits?”

 

“My point is, how would I know all that?”

 

“How do you?”

 

“Because it was all in the script. None of this is real.”

 

“Justin, you could have heard that stuff from anyone. It’s not like it’s a secret.”

 

“I'm not Justin! My name is Randy.”

 

Brian watches Justin scowl in pain. “Well, Randy, I suggest you not raise your voice like that anymore.”

 

“You think?”

 

Brian watched Justin sit on the edge of the coffee table. He held his hands on his head, one in front, one in back,  
as if he were afraid it would fall off his shoulders any moment. He looked miserable.

 

Brian went to Justin and pulled his hands away. He reached his hands beneath Justin’s ears and carefully dug his  
fingers into Justin’s hair. Slowly, gently and careful not to graze the new lump on his head, Brian massaged Justin’s  
scalp. The calming effect in Justin was instantaneous.

 

“So what episode did we first do this?”

 

“I don’t know. But I’m sure as hell gonna make sure they put it in the next one. Thanks.”

 

“You know, this little therapy session would pale in comparison to the painkillers they would have at a hospital.”

 

“No hospital. Not here. I just need to wake up.”

 

“You’re not asleep Sunshine.”

 

“I have to be asleep. Still unconscious, something. There’s no other way this could be happening.”

 

“Fine. But for the meantime, don’t go to sleep.”

 

Across the room, the buzzer at the loft door sounded.


	7. Seeing is Believing

Justin stares back at his own face on a page knitted neatly within a film industry trade magazine.

His own eyes held something undefined, but there was something in them.  
Justin couldn’t begin to remember what he must have been thinking about.  
Eyes closed, Brian’s forehead rested square against Justin’s temple, fashioning a perfect profile.  
There was something intense about the [](http://challenges.bjfic.net/)photo. Something that made you want to know… more.

_For Your Emmy Consideration  
 **Outstanding Drama Series**_

Page Justin stared back at Justin himself.

_I look so old. Like I’m not there._

 

 

 

_The Advocate._ He and his friends were on the cover of _The Advocate_! How?

 

**RANDY HARRISON**  
 _If your character was a real person, would you be his friend?  
Why or why not?_

'It’s difficult for me to imagine Justin as a real person. He’s so thoroughly a character  
created for serial television that his behavior, though dramatically justified on Queer  
as Folk, would register as childish, self-obsessed and absurd if it were displaced into  
the reality I’m familiar with. How could I be friends with someone who has nervous  
breakdowns at spilled marinara sauce, assaults high school enemies with small  
firearms, and has been systematically and repeatedly betrayed, lied to, condescended  
to, and humiliated by his boyfriend for four years? Were I placed into the TV wonderland  
of Queer as Folk, on the other hand, Justin and I would fuck once, realize we were twins  
separated at birth, and try to get our parents back together using elaborately quirky  
schemes.I’d most like to tell Justin to calm down. Maybe get him into a yoga class.'

 

_Well fuck you too!_

 

 

 

Justin stared at the plastic card a long time.

New York State Driver’s License  
Class C  
Height 5’ 8”, Weight 132  
Hair: Brown Eyes: Blue  
Corrected Lenses Restriction

His hair was darker. But Justin had no doubt he was looking at himself. But he’d only been to New York once.

How was this possible? All the pictures of places and moments he had absolutely no recognition of… How?

 

“Hey Cutie.”

 

The man was leaning so far into the doorway that he was practically bent in half. He flashed a familiar smile from  
behind unfamiliar glasses and sauntered in, slowly approaching Justin’s bed. For a change, his dusty blue jeans  
were baggy, as was the hooded T-shirt he wore. But the eyes were unmistakable: Bright, blue, welcoming. “Em?”

 

Justin saw him hesitate before he answered. “Sure kiddo. I thought I’d sneak in while everyone’s down the hall  
answering a code green or code blue or some other stripe in the gay flag. Is it helping?”

 

Justin followed Emmett’s gaze to all the articles spread across his bed. Frustrated, but still happy he finally had  
someone to talk to, Justin shook his head. “I don’t understand what’s going on. This is me. All of this is me.  
But… It can’t be. I’m me, right?”

 

Justin let Emmett take the card from his hands. “Of course you are,” Emmett said, a little too slowly for Justin’s liking.  
“You always said there’s no good reason that a driver’s license can’t look fabulous.”

 

There was something absent in Emmett’s voice. Justin couldn’t put his finger on it. He looked like Emmett.  
He talked like Emmett, kinda…“What’s my name?”

 

Justin watched Emmett hesitate again before looking at him. “What do you think it is?”

 

“Stop fucking with me!”

 

“Calm down.”

 

“How am I suppose to calm down? Nothing’s making any fucking sense!” Justin shouted. “Everyone’s telling me  
they’re not who I think they are. Shit. They’re saying I’m not who I think I am?”

 

“Randy-”

 

“And if all this is true…and he's me...” Justin scanned the items strum across his bed, from the _Playbill_ for the  
Broadway Play _**Wicked**_ to the script where the night Brian deflowered him was vividly detailed to a yearbook  
from the Univ. of Cincinnati–College Conservatory of Music to the New York Driver driver’s license to the stacks  
of cast publicity stills to the open wallet where he found pictures of himself sandwiched between a happy  
middle aged couple that he didn’t even recognize. “if he's me… I’m fucked. He doesn’t even like me.”

 

“Randy likes you.”

 

Justin grabbed _The Advocate_ with the banner at the top reading THE ULTIMATE QAF COLLECTOR’S EDITION.  
He shook it at Emmett aggravated. “He sounds like an asshole.”

 

Emmett took the magazine from Justin. “They gave you this to read? Oh honey. The wisdom of some people just  
astounds me.”

 

“Who are you?”

 

“Who would you like me to be?”

 

“Fuck this.” Justin shoved his blanket aside and braces himself to climb out of bed. He didn’t expect dizziness  
to be a problem with the glasses he now wore. But he felt it coming the moment he sat straight up.

 

“Randy, you need to stay put.”

 

“My name’s not Randy. It’s Justin goddammit!”

 

Emmett grabbed Justin’s wrist. “Take it easy, will you?”

 

There was pleading in Emmett’s eyes that Justin couldn’t ignore. Hoping to hide his disorientation, Justin slowly  
sat back in bed. “It’s Brian isn’t it? He’s doing this?”

 

Emmett rounded the bed and folded the blanket back over Justin’s legs. “Doing what?”

 

“This uber mind-fuck! He found out about the movie offer, didn’t he? And now he’s pissed that I didn’t tell him  
about it. I was gonna tell him. I just hadn’t decided yet. But he doesn’t have to do this.”

 

“Oh, the movie. That’s right.”

 

“You of all people Em… What did he do to make you play along?”

 

“Sweetie, you know as well as I do that even Brian isn’t rich enough to pull something this elaborate off. Not to mention  
his favorite weapon has always been the truth. And he can use that against you for free.”

 

“Then what Em? Please. Just cut the bullshit.”

 

Emmett had been fussing with straightening Justin’s sheet when he finally met Justin’s eyes. “Fine. No more  
bullshit.” Emmett shot a quick glance at the door and sat on the bed with Justin. “Kiddo, you were hurt. You can  
feel that, can’t you?”

 

Justin unconsciously reached for the back of his head. “Yeah.”

 

“So you do believe that something happened to you.”

 

“I guess.”

 

Emmett leaned in and began to rub Justin’s wrist. “They want us to be careful what we say to you. Personally,  
I don’t see how this is your usual garden-variety amnesia, but that’s how they’re treating it. The doctor wants  
you to come up with your own answers, at least for the moment.”

 

_Amnesia?..._ "They think I don't know who I am? I remember perfectly who I am."

 

"We know you remember who you are. You just don't remember all that you are."

 

Justin watched Emmett's face, waiting for the punchline. It didn't come.

 

Emmett picked up _The Advocate_ again. “And I am so sick of people calling you an asshole over this article. It’s a  
soundbite, most people can’t read the camp between the lines. Although I must admit Ran Man was in a bitchy  
mood that day. It wasn’t your fault honey. If I had to film the same jerk-off scene three separate times, I’d have a  
bug up my butt too.”

 

Didn't Brian call him that earlier? “Ran Man?”

 

Emmett’s broad smile made Justin smile in spite of himself. “That’s your nickname. We call you Ran Man because  
one minute you can be brilliant and wise and just as thick as chocolate fudge the next.”

 

“Ran Man. Like Rain Man?”

 

“You got it, Kid.”

 

Justin felt calmer. These weren’t the answers he was looking for, but it was start. “What’s your name?”

 

“Well, that’s a tricky question. In your current alternate universe, my name is Peter. But I think for the sake of your  
comfort level and your sanity, not to mention your blood pressure, I think that Emmett can make an appearance  
for his favorite budding artist. Just for a little while.”

 

Justin watched as the man before him sat up straight, his body and gestures becoming more fluid as he grew,  
and listened in awe as his voice rose two octaves. “And I think he would be dying to tell you if you insist  
on wearing so much white and any yellow at all, honey, you’ve got to get yourself a tan. Can you say Day spa?”

 

Just like Brian had done, Emmett changed before his eyes. It was comforting to have a friend near. “Right.”

 

“Which reminds me,” Emmett continued. “Now that I’ve got you all to myself, I demand to know why you’ve never  
done my portrait.”

 

Justin thought about it. It seemed impossible that there was anyone in his circle that he hadn’t drawn several  
times over. “I don’t know. I guess I…”

 

“You’ve been busy drawing a certain egomaniac over and over again. Sorry Honey. Lovable egomaniac. Well,  
here is your chance. Does this look familiar?”

 

The dark blue messenger’s bag with the sky blue band slung across Emmett’s shoulder had not registered  
with Justin until Emmett unwound it from his body and place it in Justin’s hands. “Yes! Oh, Emmett, thank you.”

 

Justin dug in the bag and sighed in relief when he found the contents just as he always leaves them: his sketch  
pad and three sharpened pencils. A piece of home at last.

 

Justin sensed Emmett allowing him time to be with his things. Then Emmett lounged on the bed, crossed his legs  
and threw his head back. “Well start drawing, Kid. Neither of us is getting any younger. Especially  
you.  
Which is my best side?”

 

Justin found his sunshine smile. “All of it.”

 

Emmett grinned back at him. “Well, you _do_ have an eye for beauty.”

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

 

“How on Earth did he do this!?”

 

Justin could hear Emmett’s voice loud and clear. Perhaps because it was almost a shout.

 

He found if he laid with his head at the foot of the bed, laid very still and very quiet, that he could hear the muffled  
conversation on the other side of the door from his room.

 

“That should have worked, right?” Justin heard Emmett say.

 

Justin figured Emmett must have been talking about his portrait. Justin had a great time sketching him;  
Emmett was an amazing subject.

 

Justin had given Emmett’s features a dreamy cherub quality and vividly drawn eyes that clearly captured Emmett’s  
signature joyous presence. He silently wondered again why he had never drawn Emmett before.

 

Justin vaguely realized the entire pencil sketch was created and completed without a single hand tremor.

 

“Hypothetically.” The small female voice must have been Shaw.

 

“It worked on Gilligan’s Island. When Maryanne hit her head and thought she was Ginger. The Professor came  
up with the idea to make her sing like Ginger. And when she couldn’t, Maryanne popped back in. Why didn’t  
Randy pop back in?”

 

“Because this isn’t a goddamn sit-com, Peter.” Justin’s ears perked up at the sound of Brian’s voice.

 

“It’s a fucking X-File is what it is. How did he do this?”

 

“He’s Justin.” Brian insisted.

 

“He’s Randy!” Emmett argued back.

 

“Randy is Justin. He’s Justin, he literally embodies him. He brought Justin to life.”

 

“It’s a bit remarkable I admit.” Adams was there too? “But transference of abilities on this level is not that  
uncommon. If he got knocked out and suddenly knew how it perform surgery, that’s something completely different.”

 

“He is Justin. He’s Randy, but he’s Justin too. Why are we trying to separate them? He’s one and the same.” Brian’s  
voice was calm but adamant.

 

“Gale you are so full of shit.” Emmett retorted with a tone Justin had never heard from him. He couldn’t recall  
ever hearing Emmett truly angry. It was weird, to hear them fighting over him. Like Emmett loved him with the same  
intensity that Brian did. And yet in their own ways, both had hidden that love for him. “Randy gets hurt and you think  
it’s a good thing. Why don’t you wait until someone is actually blaming you before you try and put a spin on things.”

 

Justin had heard enough. Carefully, he rolled out of bed and slowly made his way to the door.

 

“It was an accident.”

 

“We know.”

 

“What I’m trying to say is… I know Randy.”

 

“ _I know_ Randy.”

 

“And I know Justin, in a way that no one else does. You’re the doctor and I’m sure you know what’s best for  
most people. But … Randy is not most people. Justin is not most people. We’ve shown him things that should  
have jarred his memory but they haven’t. It’s not helping him. We need to back off.”

 

“Brian?”

 

Justin was surprised at how silently the hospital door opened. All turned in his direction when he spoke. Dan  
was there as well, though Justin had not heard his voice.

 

“Randy, honey, you shouldn’t be out of bed.”

 

Justin began to speak, but realized he didn’t know what to say to Emmett. He didn’t understand. He turned  
his gaze the man directly before him. “Brian, I wanna go home.”

 

“Mr. Harrison, there are still several more tests we need to-”

 

“Fuck the tests.” Justin said, cutting Adams short.

 

“Mr. Harrison-”

 

“Stop calling me that!” Justin snapped at Shaw.

 

“I’m afraid you’re in no condition to-”

 

“I’m a grown man. You can’t keep me here against my will,” Justin finished harshly. He looked to Brian again.  
“Are you gonna take me home or do I walk?”

 

Brian stared at Justin as if there were no one else around. “Do you know where home is?”

 

“With you.”

 

Brian walked through the group of adults and backed Justin against the wall. He whispered quietly so only the  
two of them could hear. “Make you a deal. I’ll get you outta here if you call me Gale.”

 

Justin searched Brian’s eyes for any clue he could find there. He had a plan, right? Brian always has a plan. Justin found no hint in Brian’s eyes. He would have to play along. Trust. “I wanna go home Gale.”

 

Brian pressed a light kiss to Justin’s forehead. “Done.”

 

 

**_________________________________________________________________________________________________**  
Author’s Note: _This chapter references an advertisement that appeared in August 2004 issues of **The Hollywood Reporter** & Expanded versions of interviews from the [July 6, 2004 issue ](http://www.angelfire.com/indie/justabrowngirl/SMN_07.html)of [**The Advocate**](http://www.angelfire.com/indie/justabrowngirl/QAF_Confd.html). No copyright infringement is intended. _  
__


	8. Anger & Answer, Sorta

Brian was pleasantly surprised when he saw who was on the other side of the door. He thought Justin would  
be too.

 

“I can’t believe you called her,” Justin snapped, annoyed.

 

“I didn’t,” Brian volleyed back.

 

Daphne Chanders stood between the two men with her hands on her hips. “You were supposed to call me if you  
weren’t coming. You’re not wearing that are you?”

 

Justin frowned at her. “I know this.”

 

“Well if you know you were supposed to call me, why didn’t you?”

 

“No, I know this.”

 

“This what?”

 

“That’s our back story. Daphne’s always forgetting things, well, she’s always getting them mixed up.”

 

“You two should make quite a couple today.” Brian walked to the kitchen and grabbed a bottled water from  
the fridge. He waited and watched from the kitchen, eager to see how Daphne would handle Justin.

 

“It’s call if I’m coming. Don’t call if I’m not.”

 

“Oh,” Daphne nodded, disappointed. She unbuttoned her tan suede three-quarter coat with the fur collar. “So we’re  
not going to the movies?”

 

“Not today Maky… Not today Daph.”

 

Brian noticed the nervous smile that surfaced on Daphne’s face. As if she just sensed the tension in the room.  
Her two fluffy braids swung prominently as she gave Justin a sideways look. “OK then. Surprise surprise, I'm going  
to the mall by myself.”

 

“No Daphne, stay. Maybe you can talk some sense into our intrepid hero,” Brian tried.

 

“Don’t drag her into this,” Justin said firmly.

 

“Why not? Maybe it’s in the script.”

 

"Asshole."

 

Daphne looked back and forth between the two men. Justin was staring back at Brian with a look that could kill.  
“Did I walk in on so weird pre-sex role play thing you guys do?”

 

“I wish this was about sex.”

 

“It’s nothing Daph. Brian’s just being, _Brian_.”

 

The taunt had returned. Brian let the jeer pass. He saw an opportunity here and he wasn’t about to miss it.  
“It seems a certain blonde boy lost his footing over on the steps a while ago and it was lights out for Sunshine.”

 

Daphne looked to Justin. “What's he talking about?”

 

“Check out Mount Everest on the back of his head.”

 

Before he could push her away, Daphne walked around Justin and carefully ran her hand over his hair. He  
flinched involuntarily. “Holy crap, are you ok? Put some ice on it.”

 

“I did. I’m OK,” Justin sighed.

 

“Well we don’t really know do we Sunshine, because you won’t let me take you to the hospital.”

 

“Justin! Why the hell not? You have a bump the size of a baseball back here.”

 

“Oh, whatever you do, don’t call him Justin!”

 

“Fuck you Gale!”

 

Daphne cocked her head to look at Justin. “Gale?”

 

“I-I mean Brian.”

 

Brian gave Daphne a pointed look, then throws his hands up, defeated. He saw the new concern on Daphne’s  
face, and relaxed a little. At least now Justin really had some explaining to do. Much like himself, Daphne was a  
no shit kinda diva. Brian was secretly grateful for the help.

 

“Justin what’s going on? What happened? And why won’t you go to the emergency room?”

 

Both men noticed the change in Daphne’s voice. Justin took a moment to debate, watching Brian watch him.  
Finally, he let go of a sigh. “Daphne, go with me for a second.”

 

“Where are we going?”

 

Justin looked around. He never noticed there was no convenient place to sit. The oversized pillows by the window?  
The chair at Brian’s desk? He settled Daphne on the coffee table and began pacing again. “Just listen to what I  
have to say for a minute. Hypothetical.”

 

Daphne folded her hands in her lap and sighed. “Hypothetical. OK.”

 

“What if I told you I’m not Justin?”

 

“Don’t be stupid. Of course you’re Justin,” Daphne chuckled uncomfortably.

 

“Hypothetically.”

 

“Why would you hypothetically not be Justin?”

 

“Daph, you’re not helping.”

 

“Well you’re not making any fucking sense Justin!”

 

“Just listen to me. What if I told you that I’m not Justin…? That I’m the actor that plays Justin on a TV show…?  
That somehow Justin and I got switched?”

 

Brian knew Justin felt him watching. He watched the young man contain his frustration and focus on communicating,  
unlike how he had been for most of the afternoon. Daphne didn’t seem to aggravate Justin the way he did so  
effortlessly. Maybe she could reach him. It’s a good thing she was here.

 

Daphne pondered silently. “I’d ask why.”

 

“Why what?”

 

“Why would you wanna be Justin? I mean if you’re an actor and you live in Hollywood-”

 

“We film in Toronto actually-”

 

“And you have your own TV show, why would you wanna be some poor lowly artist from Pittsburgh?”

 

Justin stopped pacing. He stared at Daphne while she watched him slowly zero in on a thought. “That’s a good  
question. Why would I want to be Justin?”

 

“I mean you just got back from LA. Maybe being around all those movie stars has made you start to want…  
something else.”

 

“No,” Justin shook his head in disgust. “I’ve done that scene. People are so shallow there. I never wanna be part  
of that.”

 

Daphne leaned forward, probing. “You wouldn’t or Justin wouldn’t.”

 

“I wouldn’t.”

 

“Well, there you go!” Daphne exclaimed happily.

 

“What do you mean, there I go?”

 

“That’s why you’re not there anymore and Justin is,” Daphne concluded.

 

Justin stared at Daphne confused. He turned to Brian for a translating.

 

Brian shrugged. “Don’t look at me. She lost me at hello.”

 

“Where’s Justin now?” Daphne asked.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You said you guys got switched, hypothetically.”

 

“I don’t actually know that we switched. I just know I’m where he’s supposed to be.”

 

Brian didn’t like the way Justin was rubbing his forehead.

 

“Maybe you’re here because you have something to learn,” Daphne suggested. She was starting to bounce  
around in place, following Justin progress up and down the carpet. Brian could tell she was actually having fun.  
He decided to stay quiet. The two youths were in a groove and he didn’t want to be the one to wreck their flow  
before there was an answer.

 

“I have to learn something?”

 

“Yeah. Maybe there’s something in your life that you need to learn and this is your mind’s way of helping you  
learn it. Maybe you can only see the lesson through Justin’s eyes. Oh, come on! Don’t you watch any television?  
It’s a tried and true formula. You have to lose something to learn how to appreciate it. Hello! Wizard of Oz?  
There’s no place like home? I thought all you guys lived for that movie.”

 

“It’s been replaced by Buffy the Vampirefucker,” Brian murmured.

 

“Vampireslayer?” Justin corrected him.

 

“Whateverthefuck.”

 

“If you’re not Justin, than who are you?” Daphne asked, trying to get back on track.

 

“I'm Randy.”

 

“Well, Randy, maybe you’re here for a reason, you just don’t know what it is yet.”

 

“I can’t think of one fucking good reason for this to be happening to me.”

 

“It doesn’t have to be a good reason. The Fates are indiscriminate. Or! Maybe, subconsciously, Justin wanted  
what you have and somehow that’s how you got here. Because if he’s taking your place than you had to go somewhere,  
right? Or,” Daphne threw Brian a nervously glance. She lowered her voice as she continued. “Or maybe you are  
Justin after all, but you’re avoiding something. You’re feeling guilt because you haven’t done something you need  
to do, so you’re hiding in your imagination, hiding behind the idea of being someone you met in Hollywood.  
Someone like you. well, like Randy. Justin? Justin?”

 

Brian saw Justin blank out for a moment. He had stopped pacing. His eyes glazed over. All emotion and thought  
were suddenly gone from his face.

 

He approached slowly from the kitchen. His panic spiking at the thought of Justin blacking out again.

 

Daphne grabbed Justin’s hand. “Hey Randy!”

 

Justin woke from his stupor “What?”

 

“Where did you go?”

 

“I’m fine,” Justin whispered.

 

Brian exchanged a concerned look with Daphne. Then she smiled and tugged at Justin’s arm. “Since the movies  
are off, I guess we‘re headed to the hospital.”

 

"No, I'm OK."

 

"Bullshit Justin, you're not OK!"

 

“I said I’m fine,” Justin answered in his usual voice. “And you're brilliant. You’re taking Psych this season…  
ah, this term, aren’t you?”

 

Daphne smiled nervously. “Yeah. Who’da thought I’d be this good at it.”

 

Brian watched Justin smile back at his friend. “I did.”

 

"Here, drink something," Brian held out a bottle of water to Justin, who promptly stepped away.

 

"I don't want anything."

 

"You wanted some earlier."

 

"Leave me alone Brian."

 

Justin's commanding tone caught Brian off guard. He was so surprised, he didn't even try to follow Justin when  
he retreated to the other side of the living room. It wasn't a tone he was used to hearing from Justin. And he was  
surprised at his own reaction. It... it hurt.

 

This time Daphne followed Justin across the room. "Did you tell him yet?" she asked in a low voice.

 

"Tell him what?"

 

"You know what."

 

"Daph, I don't know."

 

"What do you mean you don't know?"

 

"I don't know."

 

"How can you not know Justin? Either you did or you didn't."

 

Justin looked at Daphne imploringly. "I'm _not_ Justin."


	9. Know Thyself

They told him that the khaki pants and brown and tan striped Guess shirt he wore were his, but they were way too  
chic for his liking, despite how great the fabric felt against his skin.

 

Justin only ever concerned himself with looking good when he knew he would be out with Brian. Had to look the  
part for his beau. Not to mention it felt good knowing that while most guys were checking out Brian, a few of them  
had to be checking out him. Maybe more than a few.

 

He wrapped his arms around himself, as best the seatbelt would allow, returning the soft shirt’s cozy embrace.

 

“Cold?”

 

“A little.”

 

Justin didn’t turn to look at Brian. His eyes were busy scanning the landscape for anything familiar. The stores  
and buildings and trees were all alien to him. Street signs and billboards were in French as well as English.  
Streets with just as many circles as there were stop lights.

 

Justin shivered when he heard Brian turn on the heat in the SUV. They hadn’t been driving for long, but it felt  
like it. Maybe traffic moved slower. Maybe Brian was intentionally driving slowly. Whatever the case, Justin was  
grateful. Finally being alone with Brian was reassuring. Cruising along in the quiet SUV where all he needed  
to do was sit and be still was calming. He savored every moment, knowing it wouldn't last.

 

Brian finally broke the silence. “They could have you know?”

 

“Could have what?”

 

“They could have kept you, at the hospital.”

 

Justin shot Brian a doubtful look. “I’m a legal adult.”

 

“They can keep anyone who’s mentally altered.”

 

“Altered?”

 

“Randy, you don’t recognize your own name.” Justin noticed that Brian was speaking very deliberately. As if each  
word were particularly important. “You don’t know what day it is. You don’t know where you are. And when you  
walked into the light on set and burned yourself, you proved that you’re a danger to yourself.”

 

Justin knew he knew who he was. He just didn’t feel like arguing at the moment. “Then why did they let me go?”

 

“Because if anything happens to you, it’s my ass.” Brian began to split his attention between Justin and the road  
ahead. “Call me crazy but I don’t believe heightened emotional stress is a state of mind conducive to healing.  
Being at the hospital was freaking you out. I figured we should get you the hell out of there. Obviously you’re most  
comfortable with me. But you still need to understand that I’m not Brian. I’m Gale, and you’re Randy. Given our  
onscreen relationship, I thought maybe I’d be the best person to help you remember that. At least until you parents  
get here tomorrow.”

 

Justin looked at Brian, surprised. “My parents?”

 

“Ron’s been on the phone all morning trying to get a temporary vista for your dad.”

 

“My Dad?”

 

“His passport’s expired. I think they’re trying to find a way to get him here on grounds of medical emergency.”

 

Justin settled back into his seat. “My dad won’t care.”

 

Brian stopped the car at a red light. “Your real dad, not Craig. Can you remember his name?”

 

Justin searched his thoughts. Craig. That was the only name there. “No.”

 

Brian reached out and touched Justin’s knee. He rubbed his thigh reassuringly. “It’ll come back. Give it time.”

 

The light turned green. Brian commenced to driving, leaving his hand on Justin’s leg. “You don’t mind if I do that,  
do you?”

 

Justin managed to smile. He put his hand on top of Brian’s. The contact felt good. “Why would I mind?”

 

“I think it’s important that I interact with you the way I always have. You always have your hands on me Randy,  
or on someone. You lean a lot, touch hands a lot. I suspect you do it more than even you know. You’re always  
in physical contact some how. So when I touch you, it’s because I want to help you remember how we are with  
each other. It’s not a sexual thing. It’s a Randy thing. Which ironically sounds like a contradiction when I hear  
myself say it. The point is, I want to be with you the way we are, treat you the way I normally treat you. But I need  
you to tell me if it gets confusing for you, because I’m not Brian. Will you do that?”

 

Justin watched Brian drive, digesting his words, trying to decide if he had just been reprimanded. It felt like a reprimand,  
a warning. And he wasn’t even sure what he had done wrong. The gentle quality of Brian’s words was “a contradiction”  
compared to what he was actually saying. More confused than ever, Justin simply answered, “Sure.”

 

Brian pulled into a parking space in front of an apartment complex. He turned off the engine and gave Justin his  
full attention. “I’m just trying to keep things clear between us,” Brian added. “I don’t wanna confuse you more.”

 

Justin realized that Brian heard the dismay in his one-word response and tried to soften the blow. So he decided  
he would try again too. He looked at his lover and smiled brightly. “Why would you confuse me? You’re the only  
one who kinda believes me.”

 

Brian smiled back at Justin, and Justin sighed, relieved. At least the contagious quality of his smile still worked.

 

Brian nodded towards the building. “We’re here.”

 

**  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

 

The condo was decorated in glass and silvers and white. A cream colored sofa with black and off-white pillows  
was the center of the sunken living room. A plush tan overstuffed Lazy-boy sat beside the wall lined with book  
shelves. The carpet was thick and off-white and a glass coffee table have a white pillar candle on each end,  
a miniature Zen garden and rake sat in the middle.

 

The glass and silver entertainment center stood on the wall opposite the sofa. An elaborate stereo system sat  
behind a glass door, flanked on each side by two small libraries. The DVDs stood on the left: _Marathon Man,  
Equus, Twelve Angry Men, Glengarry Glen Ross, Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind, Fight Club…_  
Compact Discs were shelved on the right: _Tool, Coldplay, Hootie & the Blowfish, Scissor Sisters, 3 Doors Down,  
Wicked: The Original Broadway Recording…_

 

Justin was certain this was not his home when he observed every available shelf was filled with books. Bound  
books, paperbacks, scripts, all neatly stacked or filed in every corner of the apartment. There were even arranged  
by size, perfectly displayed like the Library of fucking Congress.

 

The coffeemaker, toaster, Espresso machine and microwave in the kitchen were also lined up in a meticulous  
way. There wasn’t a dish in sight and the black & white checkerboard floor tiles matched the spotless checkerboard  
countertops. Justin saw pictures of himself with people he didn’t recognize stuck to the fridge with _Alias_ magnets.  
Justin could only find one true sign that someone actually lived there: a package of light Microwave popcorn  
sitting by the filled wine rack.

 

The bedroom yielded no clues either. More really cool clothes, the kind Brian would buy for him if he had anything to  
say about Justin’s wardrobe. Like Brian, the clothes hanging in the closet were arranged by color as well. The casual  
shirts in the drawers were mostly patterns, though subtle ones. The white metallic dressers complimented the  
creamy bedspread of the king sized bed. The lamps on either side of the bed were small upright lights encased  
in towers of crystal.

 

Justin found another entertainment center opposite the bed with a television, VCR/DVD and cable box hidden  
behind its frosted glass doors. Each side of the cabinet housed videotapes. Dozens of videos of a single program  
filled both sides of the unit: episodes of _All My Children_ , labeled and dated.

 

Justin sat on the chest at the foot of the bed.

 

“Is it coming together yet?”

 

Justin had forgotten that Brian had been shadowing his every move. He stood behind Justin, touching his shoulder,  
watching for any hint of unsteadiness.

 

“This isn’t mine. None of it is.”

 

“It’s all yours Randy. You just need to…” Brian's cell phone sang out, cutting his words short. “Hello?”

 

A laptop sat open on a desk below the only window in the room. A screensaver of _The Family Guy_ flashed intermittently.

 

“Here,” Brian waved the flip phone at Justin. “It’s your Dad.”

 

Justin stared at the phone, slightly panicked, though he didn’t know why. He was afraid of who might be on the  
other line, and what it would mean if he weren’t this _Randy_ or what it would mean if it turned out he was.  
“I can’t.”

 

“Randy… he’s really worried about you. Your Mom and Dad are worried. Just let’em hear your voice.”

 

Justin tried to reconsidered, but his hand wouldn’t move. “No. I can’t talk to anyone right now… I can’t.”

 

Brian waited an extra beat, then brought the phone to his own ear. “I’m sorry… He won’t take the phone… I tried...  
He’s not ready…”

 

Justin listened to Brian’s voice fade away as he walked down the hall away from the bedroom. The further  
away Brian walked, the more relieved Justin felt, followed by a rush of guilt. How would he feel if his Mom  
won’t talk to him?

 

But he knew who he was!

 

He looked around frantically for something, anything familiar. some tiny morsel of proof that Brian forgot to hide.  
There was nothing.

 

He looked down, then stood and opened the chest he had been sitting on.

 

_Jackpot!_ An array of items leapt out at Justin in Technicolor.

 

He found board games, and cards and stuffed animals. There was a white feather boa and glow-in-the-dark underwear.  
There were scratch and sniff stickers, more stuffed animals and a William Shakespeare action figure. There were  
goofy joke cock socks and a black T-Shirt still in plastic with _Queer as Folk_ printed in the front, underlined with a  
rainbow. There was large legal sized folder filled with drawing, sketches and painting of himself, and him with Brian;  
artwork that wasn't his own. There was a large blue tin of Ghirardelli chocolates only partially eaten, copies of _OUT_ and  
 _GENRE_ and _PLAYGIRL_ magazines and even more stuffed animals. There were two Save the Rainforest journals;  
one filled, one started and a well-worn copy of _Workout Without Weights_. And bound in twine, Justin found  
a stack of letters addressed to him.

__**  
Justin Taylor  
Liberty Avenue**

 

Leaning forward was making Justin dizzy. He turned around and sat on the floor against the chest, stunned by the  
bundle in his hands.

 

“Are you OK?” Brian entered the room and immediately knelt before Justin. "It filled up fast this year."

 

"What?"

 

"You're fan chest. It's official. There are no more stuffed animals on the planet. They've all been send to you."

 

“Why are these people writing to me?”

 

“It’s your fan mail. Most people know to writing to you, to Randy. But, for better or worse, there are some kids that  
watch the show. Sometimes they write to Justin.”

 

“But why?”

 

“They relate to you. You may be the only gay teenager on television at the moment. You’re important to other gay teens.”

 

Justin let the bundle of letters drop to his lap. “Brian, this is all so weird.”

 

“Call me Gale.”

 

**  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

 

 

“I should have known it wasn’t you at the hospital,” Justin muttered from the overstuffed Lazy-boy.

 

Brian walked from the kitchen and handed Justin a mug of tea. “You should have known it wasn’t Brian? Why?”

 

“Brian’s weird about hospitals.” Justin made his voice sound as pitiful as he could, hoping to get a rise out of Brian.

 

The entire day had been orchestrated perfectly. Justin couldn’t find a single clue to prove that he was right and  
that the world around him was wrong. And he was running out of ideas on how to prove it. Pretty soon, he would  
have to accept what Brian was telling him. But not yet. There was one more thing he could try.

 

“Weird about hospitals how?” Brian asked, sitting on the arm of the sofa.

 

“I remember you being with me all day. Brian would’ve bailed by now. He’s not really attentive in that way.” Justin  
looked deeply into his mug of green tea, pouting.

 

“Brian is very attentive to Justin.”

 

“Sure, when it’s convenient. But mostly he thinks it’s lesbianic.”

 

“He stayed to watching over Justin in the hospital. I’d call that pretty attentive.”

 

Justin whipped his head up to meet Brian’s eyes. “What did you say?”

 

Brian looked as if he knew he’d said something wrong. He cleared his throat, thinking. “Randy, if you think  
about it, you’ll realize that you already know.”

 

“Know what?” Justin demanded.

 

Brian sighed, Justin waited anxiously. “That after Justin got bashed, Brian would visit Justin in the hospital  
and watch over him as he slept. Brian went to see Justin every night and never told a soul.”

 

Justin was dumbfounded. He stared at Brian until the steam from the tea fogged his glasses. He put the cup  
aside and rubbed at his eyes beneath the glasses, leaving his hand to rest against his face. It was true. Justin  
knew it was true, though he didn’t know how. Mostly because it sounded like something Brian would do.

 

Then again, how could this guy know about it if he wasn’t Brian? Justin sensed that this Brian’s presence was  
smaller and his voice seemed thinner. He was wearing his hair in his face, in a way that Brian didn’t normally  
wear it. In every way, this was Brian before him. And yet somehow, he clearly wasn’t Brian at all. But he had to be.

 

“I can’t believe we never resolved that in the script, after all this time,” this Brian commented quietly.

 

Yes, Justin knew it was true, but not from any script. It felt like the truth. “I can’t believe you never told me that.”

 

“We both know how good Brian is at keeping secrets,” Brian smiles slightly. “Randy, look around. Tell me if anything  
looks familiar and I’ll bring it to you.”

 

Justin put Randy’s glasses back on and scoped the living room slowly. His eyes fell on a wooden statue on the  
mantel above the bookshelf. “That.”

 

“This?” Brian chuckled as he brought the item down from its perch. The dark wooden native stood two feet tall  
with breasts and stomach protruding prominently out from the rest of its body.

 

“That’s Mel and Lindsay’s, isn’t it?”

 

“This… right! It’s a prop from the episode when Melanie and Lindsay had their commitment ceremony. You though  
it was hysterical, so Ron and Dan gave it to you.”

 

“A prop?”

 

“Yes. OK, something else.”

 

Justin scanned the room again. “I don’t recognize anything else.”

 

Justin couldn't concentrate. He was still thrown. Brian had been there. He knew it!

 

“Take your time Randy. Let it come.”

 

“I can’t. This isn’t me. It’s too… perfect, too orderly.”

 

Brian replaced the statue on the mantel. “You like everything in its place.”

 

“Who lives like this? It’s a fucking museum. Just like your loft. Everything’s so expensive and nice that you hardly  
believe someone lives there.”

 

“You mean Brian’s loft.”

 

“Sure.”

 

Justin watched Brian turn away, maybe frustrated. He seemed to spend a moment preparing himself. Finally he turned  
back. Yup, he was frustrated. “You still think I’m Brian, don’t you?”

 

“I know you’re Brian,” Justin insisted.

 

“Randy, please. You need-”

 

“Don’t call me that!”

 

“Well I’m certainly not going to call you Justin." Brian took a decisive step back. Justin set his jaw and met Brian's  
stare, waiting. "All I’m asking is that you look around you. Randy, this is who you are. You’re a perfectionist and  
occasionally neurotic. You’re passionate and you’re shy. And you’re refined. And we all love you for that. I love  
you for that.”

 

Justin watched Brian closely. Brian never said I love you. It was wrong. But it was exactly the thing to say to sell this  
illusion that he was someone else. “You love me?” Justin asked.

 

“Yeah, in the way that friends love each other, I do. That is, if we still are friends.”

 

“Why wouldn’t we still be friends?”

 

Justin stared up at his Brian. He felt the man’s gaze searching, waiting for something. Justin wished he knew  
what Brian wanted from him. He would happily give it to him so they could leave this twilight zone and return to  
their lives as lover and partners. For once in sync rather than at odds with each other.

 

Justin saw Brian finally let go of his questioning look and turned his eyes away with a sigh. “Brian does have  
a great pad. But I’m not Brian. Come on, I’ll show you.”  



	10. Five Ways to Drop Your Lover

Justin got tired of holding the cold compress to his head and tossed it down on the coffee table.

 

“You know, if you laid down, you wouldn’t have to hold it there,” Brian suggested.

 

“That’s alright.”

 

Brian had kept his healthy distance, seated in one of the rolling stools lined up along the island opposite the kitchen.  
He was happy that Daphne yelled loud enough and long enough to get Justin to use the cold compress again.  
There are some things women are just better at. Nagging for one.

 

Brian wasn’t too thrilled when Daphne announced she needed to move her car. There are some things that women  
are not better at. Leave it to Daphne to park at the only loading zone for blocks.

 

Brian found himself in an uncomfortable silence with Justin, who still paced the living room. He had been watching  
Justin’s hand occasionally drift to his stomach. Like he was queasy.

 

And of course Justin never mentioned any discomfort. He kept staring out the window, looking for Daphne probably.  
When he should know that window doesn’t overlook Tremont.

 

“Hungry?” Brian tried.

 

“No.” Brian thought Justin’s hand dropped to his side too quickly. Besides, Justin’s always hungry. For one thing  
or another.

 

“So are you gonna hide up here in the loft all day?”

 

“Are you gonna hover over me all day?”

Brian looked to the ceiling, overplaying his contemplation. “Well, since I live here, I might as well stick around  
to see how everything turns out.”

 

“Daphne’ll help me figure out what to do,” Justin declared.

 

“Thank goodness for Daphne. She’s got all the answers. At least the ones you wanna hear.”

 

Brian hoped Justin didn’t detect the sarcasm in his voice. He was happy for Daphne’s help with Justin, but his relief  
came coupled with a hot stab of helplessness. He always took for granted that he would be the one Justin needed  
more than anyone else.

 

“It’s more back story. One of the things Justin and Daphne shared was being in the closet.”

 

Brian raised an eyebrow, curious. He lit a cigarette, interested. “You telling me Daphne’s a muncher?”

 

Justin stopped pacing and almost smiled. “No, she’s in the closet about being a hard core Trekkie. And I’m not  
talking _Next Generation_ or _Enterprise_. She’s a serious William Shatner, first-network-television-inter-racial-kiss,  
 _Star Trek_ purist. Not the kinda thing you share when you wanna make friends and influence people.”

 

Brian saw his chance. He crossed to the living room casually. “So she likes bad television. So what?”

 

“Makyla knows more about paradox and fucking wormholes and space-time continuing than anyone I know.  
She actually understands these theories of alternate realities and the way the cosmos works. And she gave  
that to Daphne so both our characters would have a secret. Something to made her and Justin outcasts.”

 

“So Daphne and Mackie…”

 

“Makyla.”

 

“Daphne and Makyla are both Trekkies. That must mean you and Justin are both…”

 

Justin thought for a moment. His hand drifted to his stomach again. “Queer.”

 

“That doesn’t sound like much of a stretch.” Brian leans on the beam by the computer desk and offers Justin  
a drag of the smoke. “You keep telling me you’re an actor, right?”

 

“Trust me, I gave Justin plenty.” Justin rejects the cigarette with a look of disgust, a wrinkled nose and a shake of  
his head. “But from day one he was written as someone a lot different from me. All of us are very different from  
the characters we play on the show. The funny thing is, the easiest way to cast an ensemble piece like ours is to  
typecast. Find actors who have qualities of the characters. But Ron and Danny, they went the exact opposite  
direction, as usual. Justin and I have virtually nothing in common.”

 

“Virtually?”

 

“Aside from being gay, there’s maybe one thing I can relate to Justin for… When we fall for a guy, we fall hard.”

 

“It would certainly explain how he got so fucking stubborn.”

 

Justin rolled his eyes and walked towards the window again. “Look who’s talking.”

 

Brian took a final pull on his cigarette; he fucked up. Justin was actually talking to him, even if Brian wasn’t sure  
what the hell he was talking about, and he had to go and be a smartass.

 

It was proving difficult having a conversation with Justin. And confusing. Before the fall, Justin would recognize  
the sarcasm, knew what not to take to heart in Brian’s words. At the moment, Brian couldn’t say anything right.

 

He was proud that Justin had landed this opportunity to have Rage made into a film. Although until this moment,  
Brian never knew how enamored Justin apparently was with the idea of Hollywood, stardom, the glitz and glamour.  
Some secret fascination or longing for all of that was the only explanation for the intricate fantasy Justin was now in.  
Thinking he was someone else, an actor?

 

Brian crushed the bud out in an ashtray on his desk and watched Justin return to his vigil at the picture window.  
The silence between them was maddening.

 

“She said she’d be right back. And if Daphne’s right-”

 

“If anyone knows what she’s talking about, it’s Daphne,” Justin stated towards the window. “Which is fucked up  
because I’m not the one that did anything wrong!”

 

“Who is?”

 

Justin touched gingerly at his head. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

 

Brian slowly approached Justin at the window. “Well if that’s why you’re here?”

 

“It can’t be why I’m here,” Justin snapped.

 

“Look, do you wanna… get back or don’t you?”

 

“What do you think?”

 

Brian gently took Justin’s arms and pulled him closer to face him. “Then stop being a twat and let me help you  
figure this out.”

 

Justin pulled away. “I don’t want your help.”

 

“Does it sound like I’m asking permission?” Brian found himself in a staring match with Justin. He was pretty sure  
he hadn’t said something wrong this time. So Brian stood his ground until Justin looked away and stepped back.  
It was a small victory, but it felt good to have some semblance of control again. Respect at least. “Now who  
do you think fucked you over?”

 

“I didn’t say he-”

 

“Fine. Who did something wrong?”

 

Justin turned away. “It was Gale.”

 

“Gale. That’s what you’ve been calling me, Gale.”

 

“He’s my primary scene partner. He plays you, Brian, in the show.”

 

“Naturally.” Brian studied the back of Justin’s head a moment. It wasn’t the answer he was expecting. He  
rethought his words before responding. “So what did he do? Forget his lines? Upstage you?”

 

Justin huffed a small breath and shook his head slowly. “On a good day it’s forgetting his lines. On a bad day  
it’s slamming me into furniture.”

 

Brian moved forward and rested a hand on Justin’s shoulder. “He slams you into furniture?”

 

Brian felt Justin relax into his touch with a sigh. Then just as quickly, Justin pulled away and moved to the other  
side of the coffee table. “We do a lot of physical… things as part of the show. Anything you’ve done with Justin,  
I’ve done it first with Gale. Only by the time you guys’re doing it, it’s perfect.”

 

“Go back to the part where he slams you into furniture.”

 

Brian couldn’t read the look on Justin’s face. He seems to slip into a mild detachment, as if he were talking  
about someone else. “It’s usually an accident, but he pretty much drops me all the time.”

 

“Does this guy need a gym membership or what?”

 

Justin glances up finally. “He’s exactly your strength and build.”

 

“What then?”

 

“It just happens… Like in season one he dropped me while we were rehearsing the dance for the prom. We started  
to twirl, inertia took over and next thing I know, I’m lying crossed a banquet table. Yoga came in handy that week.”

 

Brian tried not to think about the prom because there was no way to remember the magical dance he and Justin  
had without remembering the vicious bashing too. Outwardly, he gave no hint of his feelings one way or the other.  
Brian watched and listened as Justin continued.

 

“In season two, when you found out about Ethan, you tortured Justin with that amazing kiss. But maybe the third  
time we did it, instead of laying me down on the floor, Gale let go and I smacked my head. It’s the same place  
I hit my head today.” Justin forced a smile. “It wasn’t so bad though, I was already pretty close to the floor.”

 

Brian didn’t see anything to smile about. His mind raced, trying to match the fantasy moment with any possible  
real life equivalents. There had to be a correlation to something that really happened between them. But Brian  
couldn’t see any clear parallels.

 

“In season three, you had this fantasy that you were fucking Justin on the dining room table, only it wasn’t really  
Justin. Gale kept fake-fucking me to his right and eventually pushed me clean off the table, head first.”

 

“Three times is not an accident.” Brian said skeptically.

 

“Scenes like that can be pretty intense. Gale gets pretty lost at times. Most of the time. This thing you and Justin  
have. It’s so… volatile.”

 

From the expression on Justin’s face, Brian realizes he has allowed his own disapproval to show. Just like every  
protective lover, Brian listens as Justin launches into the lame justification. “He always says he’s sorry. I believe  
him. And I can’t go into a scene worried about if I’m gonna get hurt. I have to commit to the moment if I’m going  
to make it real for the audience. We have to trust each other. I do trust him.”

 

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” Brian said simply.

 

Justin looked down to step over a pillow, needing an excuse to break his gaze with Brian. His hand drifted to  
his abdomen again. “Season four was on that fucking exercise bike. You know, the spin class? I’ll admit, a very  
cool scene once I saw it put together. But I needed your hands to stay in place because they were the only thing  
I had to hold on to. But Gale likes to be spontaneous, can’t be too locked in or he won’t be able to find the truth  
in the scene. So he kept moving his hands and I kept going down.”

 

Brian went back and leaned against the beam again, noting that Justin seemed to be tiring, yet fascinated at the  
details the youth could conjure. “What happened in season five?”

 

“You know what happened,” Justin mumbled.

 

“You don’t wanna tell me?” Brian had been right to sense Justin felt chased. Now that he stood by the desk  
again, Justin moved back towards the window. He seemed to find calm in the view of the rooftops.

 

“There are a couple different versions. We shot an angry fuck that turns into a really passionate lovemaking  
scene. We shot one where we don’t even have sex at all, we had an argument before we could get to it. We shot  
one where arguing becomes sex and Justin gives up, shuts down because it’s just the easiest way to deal with  
Brian. You probably remember the second version. I think we were shooting the long shot when… this happened.”

 

“Watch your pronouns Sunshine. Don’t blame me for all the shit this guy’s done to you.”

 

“Why not? He acts more and more like you every day. It’s been five years so I guess some of Brian was bound  
to rub off sooner or later. But let me tell you something, I’ll be damned if I let him treat me the way you treat Justin.  
It makes me so fucking crazy sometimes.”

 

Justin was pissed off again. That quickly. It had happened in the blink of an eye. Brian never saw it coming.  
His own frustration got the best of him. “How do I treat Justin?”

 

“Like a goddamn yoyo! You pull him to you and push him away… in the span of a sentence.”

 

“Well, he’s always free to walk away whenever he wants.”

 

Justin’s manic pacing began again. “He’s free to walk away. So it’s all his responsibility. You pushing him in every  
direction would have nothing to do with it? You’re not to blame in the least?”

 

“He walked away once before. He can do it again whenever he wants.”

 

“He could leave the fucking country if he wants to but that doesn’t mean he gets to take his heart with him. You’ll  
always have his love whether he likes it or not.”

 

“His feelings are not my responsibility.”

 

“They are if he loves you! And if you love him.”

 

Brian walked to the kitchen, unsure exact what Justin was so desperately trying to convey. Brian lit another cigarette.  
“Look, I asked you to move in. What more do you want? You’re the one who hasn’t given me an answer yet.”

 

Justin stopped in his tracks and stared at Brian “I haven’t?”

 

“No, you haven’t. Maybe we should forget the whole thing.”

 

“No!” Justin sounded almost frightened. The cry took Brian off guard, prompting him to notice Justin’s breath  
had become labored. “I will…I mean _he_ will!… _He will_ give you an answer.”

 

Brian watched Justin’s face go blank again. He looked around without really seeing. “How long has it been… has  
it been since…”

 

“Justin?” Brian saw Justin slowly crash before him.

 

“… since the Liberty Ride?”

 

Justin planted a hand on his forehead, the other on his stomach. Brian didn’t make it across the room before  
Justin fell heavily against the window panes and slid down to the floor.

 

“Shit. Justin!”

 

“I’m OK.”

 

“The fuck you are!” Brian knelt with Justin who sat quietly on the floor, shaking. Justin’s face had become pasty  
white and Brian thought he noticed Justin’s lips turning pale blue. He touched Justin’s brow and felt no warmth  
against his hands. “Justin?”

 

“Maybe... Maybe I do need to lie down,” Justin whispered breathless.

 

Brian saw Justin say the words, but it was as if he was on automatic pilot. Like it wasn’t a conscious decision,  
just words.

 

Brian nodded. He hooked his arms under Justin’s and pulled the youth to his feet. Brian could feel Justin  
struggling to stand on his own, but his legs seem to be in absolute rebellion. Brian held Justin’s face up to his.  
“Have it your way.”

 

Justin fought to focus on the man before him. “What?…”

 

Before Justin could say another word, Brian grabbed Justin’s wrist and wrapped Justin’s arm around his neck,  
leaning forward, grabbed Justin by the back of his pants and hoisted him up onto his shoulder.

 

With a firm grip one arm and one leg, Brian quickly carried Justin across the loft to the kitchen where his keys  
waited on the counter.

 

Justin squirmed futily against Brian’s shoulders. “Brian… Brian no…”

 

Just as Brian wonder how he would negotiate holding Justin and the loft door, it opened magically. Daphne stood  
on the other side. Her expectant look turned sour. “What are you doing?”

 

“Let’s go,” brian said, even as he saw Daphne's eyes dart past him to Justin.

 

“Justin?" Daphne rushed behind Brian and reached a hand up to Justin head hanging off Brian’s shoulder.  
"Is he alright?”

 

“No Daphne, he’s not.”

 

“Justin? God, what happened? Justin?”

 

Brian couldn’t really see Justin’s face, but he felt that Justin had stopped struggling. His stillness was unnerving.  
Brian abruptly quit Daphne’s fawning. “Daphne! Hospital. You’re driving.”

 

Daphne locked eyes with Brian. "I'll grab your coats?”


	11. Epiphany

Justin blinked and was suddenly surrounded by trees. He didn’t think he dozed off, he felt the left hand turn.  
He sat up in his seat and peered into the rearview mirror.

 

Sure enough, a Hasty Market steadily shrank in the reflection until wilderness wiped it from view as the car  
veered right.

 

“How long have I been…?”

 

“About five minutes.”

 

“How long have we been driving?”

 

“About ten. I know the woods freak you out, but it’s not far.”

 

“I love the woods. Everything in it’s alive,” Justin answered.

 

They glanced at each other. Remembered how they were brought together and why. Neither could think of anything  
to say. Justin watched Brian reach over and touch his cheek lightly. The man smiled briefly. Justin resisted the  
urge to lean into the touch. He wanted to, wanted to feel less lost.

 

The cottage was hidden less than a mile off the city street. The driveway was dirt, making it hard to tell where  
it ended and the road began. The surrounding bushes of wildflowers and foliage were dusted with snow. The tree  
in the front yard had a pile of firewood stacked against it and an ax stood up on its edge, chopped into a nearby stump.

 

Justin felt Brian’s arm around his shoulders. “That’s just for effect. I’ve never chopped wood a day in my life.”

 

The cottage was huge inside, a strange but interesting balance of modern comforts and rustic décor. As soon as  
they entered, the round sectional couch that formed a huge burgundy C met them. Its open side positioned directly  
before a fireplace and inside its mouth sat a coffee table of cherry wood, home to a checkerboard and chess  
set with hand-carved black and white ivory pieces. To the far left of it was a fully stocked wet bar, and to the far  
right an entertainment center with red and green lights dancing randomly on the various silent black boxes.

 

Justin watched Brian take his shoes off before stepping onto the chocolate Berber carpet, and did the same.  
He felt like he had just walked into a Hobbit hole. The home was constructed of red brick and logs with bay windows  
in every exterior wall. A rounded wooden archway and breakfast bar separated the living room from the open kitchen.

 

A similar archway of light brown wood petitioned off a rec area with a pool table, a yoga mat and ball and a rack  
of free weights. In drastic contrast to the rest of the house, this room was painted bright blue. Decidedly festive  
rather than mature and mellow earth tones.

 

The choice awakened Justin’s artistic curiosity, but only long enough for him to take note of the CDs. Just like  
Randy had books in every inch of his condo, Brian matched him with just as many compact discs. There were  
stacks of five or fifteen or ten all over the place. Neat and tall, not so neat and ragged piles of music covered the  
floor before and around the entertainment center.

 

Unlike Randy’s place, Justin noticed Brian went straight to the task of grabbing shirts and shoes that were  
strewn across every piece of furniture. His eyes wondered to the fireplace where he spied the burnt remains  
of a log, ready to crumble at the slightest touch. The smell of burning wood was still strong in the room, along  
with the scent of pot, less evident but still unmistakable.

 

Brian disappeared behind the fireplace with an arm full of clothes, then reappeared a moment later with arms empty  
and the sound of an unseen door closing behind him.

 

He grabbed the remote from the mantel over the fireplace and pointed it at the stereo. Eric Clapton began plucking  
at his guitar. “Sit down. Relax.”

 

Justin watched Brian quickly collect a few coffee mugs and beer bottles from countertops in the room and make a  
beeline for the kitchen. He saw the Tiki papasan under the window for the first time. Justin sank into the fluffy burnt  
red cushion. The round chair was angled perfectly for him to see into the kitchen where Brian scrambled to quickly  
clean and straighten.

 

The last ray of the sun felt nice against the back of Justin’s neck. But even with his jacket on, there was a chill.  
A persistent chill he couldn’t shake. He tucked his hands between his legs, hoping to get warm.

 

“Is this lived in enough for you?” Brian asked, loading the dishwasher.

 

“It’s better, yeah.”

 

“Couldn’t pass it up once I found it. Gotten out of many an interview because reporters can’t find this place.”

 

Justin looked to his right, another leaning tower of CDs, Stone Temple Pilots sitting on top. “I take it you don’t live  
with your girlfriend. Or your mom.”

 

“The last three prospects turned out to be Brian Kinney junkies. I’m taking a break.” Brian grabbed Perrier from  
the fridge and poured a glass. He handed it to Justin then slipped onto one of the leather-backed bar stools.  
“What about you? What’s his name?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You haven’t exactly said anything, but… I don’t blame you for keeping him to yourself. After the last one Hal and I  
chased off… God can I actually say his name with a straight face, Chaz. We gave you so much shit for that. The  
first rule of gay etiquette should be never date a guy whose name is onomatopoeia… a word that’s a sound.  
Chaz, Buzz. Rip.”

 

“Oh.” Justin could only smile. He tried to be amused. After all, Brian wasn’t teasing him, he was teasing this other  
guy, right?

 

Brian’s cheerful laughter began to calm. “That’s what you get for breaking your own rule about dating extras.”

 

Again, Justin listened and smiled, knowing Brian was expecting him to play along, to say he remembers, when he  
just didn’t. Justin looked up when Brian pressed his lips together and stood. “Why don’t you look around? You're  
here alot. See if you recognize anything.”

 

Justin scanned the home again while Brian made a quick plate of green grapes, Triscuits and cheddar cheese  
slices. He gave up when Brian placed the small plate on top of the STP CD. “I can’t remember if you decided to go  
vegetarian again this week.”

 

“This is great, thanks.” Justin and Brian sat in silence while he nibbled greedily at the snacks. Brian smiled at  
Justin broadly, something he rarely did. He looked so happy in full on host mode that Justin almost didn’t want  
to spoil the moment. Maybe he wouldn’t. “We’ve had sex, right?”

 

“Hundreds of times, for the camera,” Brian answered quickly. Justin flashed him an unrelenting pan and Brian caved.  
“We talked about it. But we decided it wouldn’t be useful.”

 

Justin almost choked on a grape. “I thought sex was supposed to be for fun.”

 

“It would have been research. For our characters. But we realized actually having sex would be counterproductive.”

 

“I never thought I’d hear you say something like that.”

 

“Brian never would.”

 

Justin stopped chewing a cheddar Triscuit sandwich.

 

It was true. Brian never would say something like that. The words seemed like another chiding, but suddenly hung in  
the air, luminous and radiant as the sun.

 

_Brian never would_. Simple words stating the obvious and unquestionable. Justin already knew Brian would never...

 

It was a small thing. But now Justin was sure.

 

He’s not Brian.

 

Justin didn’t know how long he sat frozen in mid-chew. The sounds of “Brian” moving around in the kitchen brought  
him back. “Because when we meet Justin, he is a character experiencing a sexual awakening. The awkwardness  
between us fed into the scenes between Brian and Justin.” Justin’s host turned back to him with a glass of red  
wine in his hand, unaware to Justin’s revelation. “The way our relationship developed was really fast and really  
organic. Off screen as well as on. It was good.”

 

Justin swallowed hard. This wasn’t Brian. What did he have left to say to this man?

 

“You did rehearse with Fab though.”

 

If this isn’t Brian, where is he? “Fab?”

 

“Fabrizio. Do you remember Fabrizio?”

 

“Who’s Fabrizio?” Justin asked without really caring what the answer would be. He had been resisting it all day.  
But it was true. This wasn’t Brian. He wasn’t in Pittsburgh. He didn’t know these people, this guy. He didn’t  
know how he got here, or how to get home.

 

“Ethan. He was really feeling the pressure of being the guy that took Justin away from Brian. He wanted your scenes  
to be believable, magical. You guys actually went out on a date.”

 

The stereo coughed out a series of clicks and Beck began playing a melody out into hidden speakers.

 

“Afterwards, he said he realized that it’s not about whether it’s a guy or a girl. It’s about selling the passion and  
making it look good for the camera. He’s a lot like you in that way. He’s a perfectionist and a professional. It was  
important to both of you to get it right.”

 

_Was I kidnapped? Brainwashed? Why do they want me to think I’m someone I’m not?_ “To get it right? Get what right?”

 

“The moment, the performance. It has always been important to you to honor Justin with the best work you can,  
despite some of the lame motivations they gave you to play at times. When Justin draws, you don’t stop until you  
get it right, right?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Randy gave you that. He always has his lines. He’s always in the moment. He’s always giving you something  
to play off of. It’s fucking annoying how prepared he is sometimes.”

 

Justin watched his host sip his wine. He knew things about Brian and him, so he wasn’t trying to hide anything  
from him. Justin knew if this guy wanted to hurt him, he could have done it by now. Maybe this guy, this… Gale  
doesn’t know what’s happened either. Justin gave the conversation his full attention again. More than ever, Justin  
just needed answers. “But he’s not gay?”

 

“Oh no, he’s gay.” Gale reached under Justin’s chair and pulled out a red and black Lumberjack flannel blanket.  
He shook it open and draped it over Justin.

 

Until he did that, Justin didn’t realize how his whole body was cowered against the cold. He drew his feet into  
the chair and pulled the blanket to his chin. “And you’re not gay?”

 

“Not yet. I’m… open. I try to stay open to the world, so I can experience it for what it really is. It’s how I am in my work  
and in my life.”

 

Justin swallowed hard. “So why wouldn’t you be friends anymore?”

 

The question surprised Gale. “Randy, you know why.”

 

“Pretend I’m not Randy for a minute,” Justin insisted desperately. “Pretend I’m just this guy who found himself  
in the middle of somebody else’s life. And probably the only way I’m gonna get back is if I understand this guy  
who everyone keeps telling me I’m supposed to be.”

 

Justin watched Gale lean against the counter and down the last of his wine. He poured more into the glass.  
“We had a fight.”

 

“A fight?”

 

“A disagreement.” Gale corrected himself.

 

Justin wasn’t sure what this fight had to do with him. But he was certain, somehow, it did. He tried not to be too  
anxious as he probed further. “Does anyone else know? About this disagreement?”

 

“Maybe Peter…Emmett. We had a huge fight two days ago and that’s why I thought you were pretending at first.  
I should have known you would never bring it onto the set. You’re too private for that.”

 

“What was the fight about?”

 

Gale moved the wine bottle across the kitchen beside the sink, perhaps a deliberate action to stop at two glasses.  
Justin forced himself to wait patiently while Gale prepared to tell the story. “I had some friends come up from San  
Francisco and I invited Randy to hang out with us. They’re good guys, I’ve known them most of my life. And I  
wanted Randy to meet them instead of spending another night hiding in his condo with a book and some  
microwave popcorn.

 

“I thought we were all having a good time. But the next day Randy goes off on me. He wanted to know why I trapped  
him into spending the evening with a couple of homophobes. He said he felt attacked the entire time.”

 

“Attacked? What did they do?”

 

“Aaron and Kyle were drunk and they pulled out their arsenal of fag jokes. But to hear Randy tell it, you’d think  
it was a personal vendetta.”

 

“Are either Kyle or Aaron gay?”

 

“No.”

 

“Well what else would you call it?” Justin was losing hold of his objectivity.

 

“They were fooling around.”

 

“When was the last time you were the only straight guy in the room?”

 

“They were just drunk.”

 

“So you didn’t say anything?”

 

“I only told a few, but Randy heard them before anyway.”

 

Justin’s jaw dropped. “Wait a second! You tell fag jokes?”

 

“No more than usual.”

 

“What does that mean?” Justin demanded outraged.

 

“It means we joke about it all the time. He jokes about straight guys, I joke about homos and it’s fine. Everyone  
knows the other is kidding. Hal does it, Peter does it. Hell we all do it. To keep from taking things too seriously  
on set, ya know? Hell, I probably know more gay people than he does.”

 

“But Randy doesn’t know your friends.”

 

“So?”

 

“So it may not mean anything between the two of you, but he doesn’t know these guys. Comments like that coming  
from someone you don’t know… I wouldn’t know what to think.”

 

“They were just trying to get him to lighten the fuck up.”

 

“But Randy’s had four years to get comfortable with you. How could you just take it for granted that he’d be comfortable  
with your friends?”

 

Gale finally looked up from his wine glass and looked Justin in the eye. “How could you think I would bring him in  
a room with a couple of faghaters?”

 

“I guess maybe that’s what he’s wondering too,” Justin answered quietly.

 

“I wouldn’t! You should know that. I resent that you think I would ambush you and I resent that you think I’m that  
kind of person. If you don’t know me by now, trust me by now…”

 

Justin found himself in a dead stare with Gale. The scowl on Gale’s face was demanding an answer. But Justin  
didn’t have Randy’s answer.

 

Gale took a deliberate step back into the kitchen, shaking his head. He looked away with a sigh, as if trying to  
accept the mistake he just made.

 

The stereo clicked. The Edge began to gently strum his electric guitar over clacking drumsticks.

 

Justin watched Gale walk into the kitchen and place a hand on the wine bottle. And he stood there. His back turned,  
his hand on the bottle. It was a very Brian thing to do, just keep drinking until he forgets or doesn’t feel anymore.

 

Justin knew he would want a drink at a time like this. He saw how screwed up a situation this was and how both  
men could be angry. By the way Gale had just blown up at him, Justin guessed they hadn’t gotten this far into  
talking about it, if they even tried to talk it out at all. But Justin couldn’t speak for this Randy. He could only speak  
for himself. What would he say or feel if he found himself in this situation?

 

Justin began to crawl from beneath the blanket when Gale’s voice stopped him. “Stay put. You’re supposed to  
be resting.”

 

Justin didn’t know how Gale knew with his back still turned. Nevertheless, Justin did as he was told and settled  
back into the round chair, pulling the blanket close. Eventually Gale let go of the wine bottle and came to stand  
before him. Gale’s face was still laden with aggravation.

 

Justin tried to keep all judgment out of his voice. Remembering how Gale first approached him, Justin spoke  
slowly, intent on making his point.

 

“I took this drama class once, back in high school. And the first thing the teacher did was have us play this game.  
Each person took turns standing by themselves in the middle of the room. And what you were supposed to do is  
fall back without looking. You were supposed to let go and fall and your classmates would catch you. It was supposed  
to be an exercise in trust. With Randy… You dropped him. You took his trust and you walked away when he thought  
you would be there to catch him.”

 

Justin watched Gale's head whip around to glare at him. As if he'd just insulted the man. But it was the simplest  
metaphor Justin could come up with. The most appropriate one.

 

"I don't do it on purpose!" Gale shot back.

 

"Do what?"

 

Justin watched Gale bite the corner of his mouth and grip the countertop hard. He gave his head a quick shake  
and began again. “I did not walk away. I never betrayed his trust or discarded his feelings-”

 

“You didn’t mean to do it, but it sounds like you did.” Justin answered gently. “If you really are friends, and you  
really do love each other, you have to see how all this could hurt him.”

 

Gale fingered the empty wine glass, pensive. “I see it. I didn’t believe it.”

 

“Why wouldn't you?”

 

“Because he’s a damn good actor. And when you want to make a point, we all have our own powers of…”

 

“Manipulation?”

 

“I was going to say persuasion." Gale drew inward before Justin's eyes. He shook his head again, swallowed  
a swear. "I could see he was pissed. I never wanted to believe he was hurt.”

 

Justin let the confession hang in the air, unanswered. He knew what it was like to unintentionally hurt someone.  
He could think of nothing to make Gale feel better. He shouldn’t make Gale feel better.

 

Bono’s croning filled the silence:

_Listen to me now_  
I need to let you know  
You don't have to go it alone 

 

“So what happened?”

 

Justin was drawn into the song. He almost didn’t hear Gale speak. “What do you mean?”

 

“I’m sure Randy gave Justin that story for a reason. What happened in the drama class?”

 

Justin spent a long moment remembering. “When it was my turn I stood in the middle of the room. And I could  
kinda tell that no one was moving to the center to catch me. But I fell back anyway, it was about trust, right?  
And I landed on Daphne. She was the only one who didn’t let me fall.”

 

Justin watched Gale's pained expression worsen. “Shit that’s a great story.”

 

“I bet she’d have plenty to say about what’s happening to me now.”

 

“I bet she would,” Gale agreed.

 

_And it's you when I look in the mirror_  
And it's you that makes it hard to let go  
Sometimes you can't make it on your own 

 

Brian likes U2. Only band he ever admitted to liking. He’d say, 'They’re alright.'

 

_Sometimes you can't make it…_

 

Justin pulled the blanket to him. He wasn’t getting any warmer. This wasn’t helping. “You said if I called you Gale  
then you would take me home.”

 

“I did.”

 

“No you didn’t. I wanna go home Gale. Take me home.”


	12. Depression

I never thought I’d be happy to see the inside of a hospital again in my life.  
Not since I got out with my life. I guess like everything, it’s a trade off.

If I have to see Justin drop to the ground one more time… I can’t watch him…  
Christ he scared the shit out of me. Keeps scaring the shit out of me. I wish…

Pull it together Kinney. We’re here now. Finally.

All I have to do now is come up with a graceful way of explaining to Jennifer how her son got a concussion  
during foreplay.

Maybe she won’t ask. The Taylor family does seem to have a long running tradition of denial.  
See Craig Taylor with his Neanderthal notions that Justin could be straight if he just pressured him enough.

What an asshole. Like Justin really has a choice.  
I don’t know anyone who chooses to be gay.  
Ignorance certainly is bliss. If not convenient.

I’m not gonna worry about Jennifer.  
Concentrate on Justin lying before me in a hospital bed and wonder why he’s frowning in his sleep.  
I hope he’s not in pain.  
What could be so serious that it haunts him even in his sleep?  
He’s not even having a dream I don’t think. Just sleeping.

Maybe if I touch his face, smooth out the creases over his nose. Just let him know it’s okay. I’m here.

That’s better.

Christ, how can anyone be so tense in his sleep?  
I think his whole body relaxed with that sigh.  
I wonder if he’s always been like that, needing to know someone is there. Wanting to be part of a pair...  
I wonder how he ever survived prior to sharing a bed. With me.

Are his eyes opening?

Shit, I didn’t mean to wake him.  
Better si’down. All he needs is to see me hovering over him like some lovesick lover… worried partner…  
even if he is right.  
Give him some space….

His eyes look so tired, confused.  
What’s he trying to say? Oh, doesn’t even know his lips are moving…

That’s it, give it a minute.

His eyes widen and immediately look at his left shoulder.  
He keeps doing that. What’s he looking for?  
Whatever it is, it’s still not there. Or it’s still there. Fuck if I know.

He’s still pretty pale, but at least his fucking lips aren’t blue anymore.  
Christ that was freaky. I never wanna see him go through that again.  
‘Course looking around the room with that miserable look on his face isn’t much better.

He’s looking at his left hand, where the blue plastic clip is hugging his finger connecting him to the EKG.  
Why do they need to monitor his heart? I know a knock on the head is serious but his heart wouldn’t… would it…?

Don’t think about shit you don’t understand.  
He’s here now. They’ll take care of him if something happens.

Maybe he’s looking at his wrist where the IV tubing is taped to the back of his hand.  
Mine hurt like a motherfucker after the surgery.  
Guess it pays to have good veins, not that there’s a fucking thing you can do to get them. Don’t think they’re like muscles…

He has to try so hard to turn his head. He’s… looking at me. Just looking at me.

Well come on Kinney, say something comforting.

Such as?

You look like shit? This private room is costing me a fucking fortune. You’re lucky you have bright blue eyes because  
they’re the only thing keeping you from completely disappearing into those pillows.

For fuck sake not the truth. He doesn’t need the truth right now.  
Besides, his eyes aren’t looking so bright right now.

I hate seeing him like this.  
It’s his fucking fault.  
I still hate seeing him like this.

My lips, Christ feel like sandpaper. Can I even talk?

“I’m still here.”

Good. Let him lead. “Looks that way.”

“Where is here?” His voice is so thin. Maybe he needs a breathing machine too.

“Allegheny General. Where I should have dragged your ass kicking and screaming hours ago.” And it’s not all his fault.

“Why am I so tired?”

Is he serious? “That happens when you walk around for hours ignoring a concussion. Apparently, your films came  
back clear and there doesn’t appear to be any skull fractures. What they’re most worried about is they found some  
swelling, so they wanna monitor you overnight, maybe two. Unquote. How’s that for a diagnosis, considering there’re  
only imaginary doctors here?”

Better flex that hand slowly Sunshine, IV needles are merciless.

“What are they giving me?

“Something about re-hydrating you. Fuck if I know. I did get ripped a new one though.”

Well, that seems to get his attention, what little he has to give. All this will amuse him, might as well share.

“Some fucking twelve-year-old resident reamed me for waiting until you went into shock before bringing you in.  
Least when they lecture you, you know you’ve got one that cares.”

Is he hearing me? His expression hasn’t changed once since he woke up. Groggy and sad…

“I thought I just needed to wake up.”

“Since you’ve done that several times today, it was about time we consulted a medical professional.”

“How’m I gonna get back?” His eyes drift to some place above my head. His face is so drained and…morbid.

I’ve gotta do something. Maybe if I sit on the bed next to him. Is there room…?

“I’ll tell you how. You’re gonna rest. They’re gonna watch you. Daphne’s gonna come back with your bag, so you  
can draw for a while if you want. And your mom’s gonna drop by and make her little Justin feel all better. How does  
that sound Sunshine?”

Why is he shaking his head? What did I say? How much more fucking nice do I have to be?

“I’m not Justin. I’m not…” He’s working so hard to get the words out. Maybe I should-

“Just for now… call me Randy. If I’m still here tomorrow, I’ll try and get use to it but for now, please, say my name.  
My name’s Randy.”

He’s closing his eyes again. Good. Just rest so I don’t have to think about… Wait why is he breathing like that? Is it hurting? Fuck, his monitor is speeding up. What’s wrong?… I can’t see why…

“Shit.”

Lips are pink not blue. What’s happening? Should I-  
Tears…

“Ju…” Don’t call him Justin. “Randy…?”

“I’m not fucking crying!”

So that’s what he’s fighting, the tears. His face is turning red. It’s color, I don’t give a shit why. Any color is good right now.

His eyes finally open but he doesn’t wanna look at me. “I can’t help it. It’s this shit they’re giving me.”

I get it. I just won’t look at him. Give him a minute. There’s a perfectly good box of Kleenex to look at instead, sitting right over…

Wait…Don’t look away. There’s nothing wrong with him or me. He can feel whatever he’s feeling. Look at him. Stay with him. Let him know he has nothing to be ashamed of.

“I fucking hate this.”

Tears I know how to deal with…Hold his hand, that should be enough for now…

“I don’t get sick!”

Don’t push. Keep your fucking mouth shut Kinney.  
Just be here… it’s good to see his eyes open, even if they’re leaking.  
Stormy dark blue today…

I guess he’s breathing through it, never really broke into a sob.  
Don’t stop on my account. Do what you need to do. I’m not goin’ anywhere.

“I can’t really move, that much. Could you…?”

I know exactly what he means, wondered why he didn’t do it himself. God is he that whipped?  
I could use a Kleenex…  
No, I’ll use my thumb, to brush away the tears rolling down each side of his face, just one on each side. He’ll like the contact.

Whoever thought I could have a calming effect on anyone… God I love touching him.

He seems better now that his tears aren’t showing… I get that. Hey, he’s warm again… he’s better.  
Give him a gallon of this stuff, I don’t care if he blubbers like a little girl for a week, just get him better.

His breathing evens out, I think he’s gonna go to sleep again, but he forces his head to turn in my direction.  
He’s looking at me like he’s… cautious? Embarrassed?  
Silly Twat. Feel this hand on your face? It’s safe with me… you’re safe with me.

“I’m sorry…. About before… I think I kinda…freaked out a bit?”

If you’re gonna smile Kinney, make it sweet. “A bit?”

“Again.”

“Just a bit.”

“I like knowing where I stand. Knowing how things work.”

“Being in control?”

I thought that was the right smile. So why does he look so fucking sad? Is it because he’s tired?  
Don’t push, just listen. He’ll tell me what he needs in a minute.

“It’s not even completely your fault. You are who you are. It’s the writers that keep you from being a reasonable human being. Gale has so much fun playing you, sometimes I get jealous.”

Should I just let him talk? He’s gonna wear himself out. Maybe that’s a good thing. I think… it looks like it’s helping.  
Let him talk Kinney, just let him go…

“Your character’s all about holding back while my character’s all about overflowing. It’s the perfect Romeo and Juliet.  
Or rather Romeo and Mercutio.”

He made me watch that. Which one was Mercutio? The black guy right? “Doesn’t Mercutio die?”

“Yup. His death sets everything in motion. I think it’s the greatest love story never told.”

“Christ, even your alter ego’s a drama princess.”

“I prefer the term thespian.”

“Whatever you wanna call it, it’s still pretending and pining all day long.”

“At the risk of sounding pretentious-”

“You do realize there is no way to use that phrase without sounding pretentious?”

“It’s harder than it looks.”

Did he just roll his eyes at me? He just rolled his eyes at me! Fabulous. “Really?”

“When you’re an actor, on a TV or film set, you have to bring it. Sometimes all by yourself. You can get there most of  
the time, if you have a good scene partner or a good script. But it’s all about having an emotional experience,  
on demand. And mostly you just have to trust that your performance plays. And pray that the director has an eye for  
believability and truth.”

Look at that, his eyes… There’s the Sunshine we all love. I didn’t know that Jus… Well _Randy’s_ been talking like  
this all day… This kid really loves acting.

“But when you’re on a stage, during a play, and the audience is like ten feet from you… You can feed on that, use it,  
adjust your performance until it’s working. And it’s a different show every night, because it’s a different audience  
each night. There’s an immediacy, an exchange of energy that you just can’t get from photographed work.”

“Since when do you know so much about acting?”

“I told you. You don’t have to believe me. I know you think my brains are scrambled because I got knocked out and  
you’re just waiting for Justin to pop back in. I could do that you know? I could put on Justin for you.”

“So why don’t you?”

“I’m a little afraid that if I do that, I may not be able to get back.”

His voice was getting stronger a second ago. Maybe he doesn’t wanna jinx it.

“What happened to performing on demand?”

“Don’t be a shit Brian.” At least I got a smirk out of him.

The quiet is good. Maybe he’s resting, recharging.  
Even Justin knows we don’t need to be talking every second we’re together.

Did I just think that!

“I don’t really get sick.”

Jus… Randy just said something, right? “You mean this is your first concussion? Even with that guy dropping you all the time?”

“He doesn’t mean to hurt me. Those were just accidents.”

“You should know. Play with something long enough, it’s gonna break.”

“Good thing that doesn’t apply to your cock.”

Wonder if he means 'your cock', meaning _my cock_ or your cock meaning the universal ‘you’, in which case that is something much more interesting that we could have been talking about all day.

Hey that was pretty good. He distracted me.  
Guess he knows where I’m headed with this. Or does he?

He seems lucid. Might as well go for it, while he’s a captive audience.  
Maybe I can get him to tell me what I have to do with all this. If he doesn’t see it coming…

“If you found a C-note on the street, you’d keep it, right?”

“Probably. So what?”

“Then you know that given the opportunity, good people can do some fucked up shit.”

“So…?”

“So, I know you say this guy doesn’t mean to hurt you-”

“God, what do I have to do to make you understand? He’s not my lover. He doesn’t beat me up. And gravity is to blame  
for the rest.”

“Look, you’ve had some time to sleep and I’ve had a lot of time to think. Now will you shut the hell up and listen  
to this?”

Why am I surprised that he can piss me off even in his fragile state?

“Well?”

Well what? Oh!

“I lost my chain of thought, give me a second. It’s your fucking fault for interrupting. I had it right here a minute ago.”

Was I really taking that long? It didn’t seem like it.

“Fine. Wake me when you finish your dissertation.”

“Now who’s being the shit?”

His eyes just changed, I have his attention. Make it count Kinney.

“Randy. I don’t know this guy. But if it’s true and he doesn’t mean to abuse you, and if you still get knocked around every… season, show whatever, then he doesn’t know how to treat you.”

So you’re just gonna look back at me with the blank look on your face?  
For an actor, you’re not making yourself too fucking available.

“Are you friends outside the… this show?”

“Yes, we are.”

“Then what’s to stop him from pulling some other shit that he _doesn’t mean to do_ when you’re not acting?”

A reaction finally. Wait, what’s that look about?  
Shit, he’s done something to him already.  
Holy fuck, was Daphne right with all that Star Trek sci-fi shit?  
Is this what he needs to learn or whatever?  
How not to be a punching bag, literal or otherwise?  
That he can say stop or no or don’t fucking do that, without sounding like a victim?

Christ, I bet it is.

Just look at his face. The changes are so small, so subtle.  
I’d never notice them if I hadn’t stared down at that face so many times.  
I think he gets it. I think… he does… he knows the lesson too.

It’s this look on his face. He’s Justin but… I can’t tell what he’s thinking.  
This kid could learn a lot from Justin.  
Justin always made it very clear exactly what he wanted.  
And how he wanted it and when he wanted it… and why. Justin would talk some sense into…

“What did you say the first night we were together? Brian and Justin’s first night together.” Christ this is confusing. If I have to correct myself one more time I think my head’s going to explode. And I only wish I was talking about the one between my legs.

He lets a small smile curl half his mouth. Fond memory. Me too.

“We made history. First time a guy lost his virginity on network television.”

“What did Justin say right before we started?” It was the first thing he ever asked of me. Things were easy that first time.

He’s watching me think. Maybe he’s getting fatigued again. Figures, after that spurt he had a few minutes ago.  
Get to the point Kinney, before you lose’em. “He asked me to go slow. You were there, so you know. Justin wasn’t  
worried about what I thought. He wasn’t afraid of what I’d do. But we just met. It’s only common sense for him to ask,  
so we both know and agree what’s gonna happen. You teach people how to treat you, lover, friends… Christ, some  
of us need to teach our own fucking family. But it’s up to you to draw boundaries. It’s nobody else’s business or  
decision but yours.”

_Fuck you Mom!_

Kinney, don’t scare the shit out of him.  
He needs the shit scared out of him.  
Yeah, I’m staring at you. I’m gonna stare at you until you understand your fuck-up.  
Understand you need to own your fucking life.

Why is he squeezing his eyes shut like that? “Justin?”

He let out a sigh. When did he start holding his breath?

“Randy.”

I give up. “Right. Are you okay Randy?”

“Sometimes it feels like I’m gonna throw up. It’s not as bad as it was at the loft though.”

He’s giving me Justin’s exposed look, like he’s waiting for me to ream him some more. I can already see I don’t need to.  
God, this guy really is a glutton for punishment.

Damn, I can’t stay mad at either of them.

Enough serious shit for today, now _I’m_ exhausted. I feel myself starting to smile at him.  
His hand is still sitting there, waiting for me to pick it up, like this, hold it in mine, like this…

“Why are you doing that?”

Can you feel it Randy? That’s the excitement of not knowing what’s gonna happen next.  
“I’m playing the part of the doting, dutiful boyfriend. Should I stop?”

“No.”

That’s it, relax. “Justin loves this shit. The touching.”

“Don’t you?” That breathy whisper is back. He really is beat.

“Well, Justin is very touchable. He’s…”

“He feels good to hold in your hands. Something you know is completely yours. It’s comforting.”

Hey, how could he know… “Yeah, it is.”

“Gale gave you that.”

“Did he? Well, I’ll have to decide whether to thank him, or rip his balls off.”

He learns. Good. That means he’ll survive.

The way his eyes are fluttering is unmistakable. Every bounce of those thick fair lashes is calculated. The little prick’s  
flirting with me. Or getting a serious hit from the tube in his arm.  
That's it.  
Never even noticed when the drip got faster. Must be on a timer or something.

Justin intoxicated. Another thing I love to sit back and watch.

“Say my name.”

“Randy Harrison.”

You’re awake now, well, you’re eyes are wide enough.

“How did you know my last name?”

“You told me earlier today.” Go ahead, think about it. Remember? “Contrary to popular belief, I do occasionally hear something besides the sound of my own voice.”

“Don’t stop.”

But I… I guess I stopped running my thumb across his knuckles.

“Randy likes the touching too.”

I guess all blonde twinkies are into the sentimental stuff.

“Do you?”

That made him smile. That I see him as Randy now. Hell, if I’d known that’s all it takes to make him happy.

Maybe if I assume the position, twist my body so I’m leaning over him on my elbows.  
Dig my fingers into his hair the way he likes it. The way Justin likes it.  
The dark blonde mess, getting lighter again. Matted in some places, sticking up in others.  
I’ll just keep running my fingers through it. Find our calm, find our rhythm, find our place.

Maybe I can summon Justin… where are you… come to me…

“Say my name again,” he muttered. Lets loose one of those deep sighs of surrender.

Does he trust me now? Or is he letting go because he’s drugged and can’t hold on anymore?  
He doesn’t need to fight me, he never did…

I’ll take my time studying his face, inches from mine. Yeah, that’s calm. Finally. “Randy.”

The flutter of his eyes is slowing. He’s falling. “Am I allowed to go to sleep?”

Stop thinking Randy. “As long as you promise to wake up.”

“I do… I prom…”

“Then go to sleep Randy.”

Go on, sleep.  
Find your way home.

But make sure you give him back to me.


	13. Acceptance

They say your whole life flashes before you before you die. But I’m not dead, just… not real.

 

It’s nothing but a warehouse. A hangar, a… theater with huge boxes made of wood and sheet rock…

 

I know I asked to come here, but I… I didn’t mean this.

 

Be careful what you ask for. Especially here, with him.

 

Weird, there are no windows. It’s so dark. Clusters of lights on the ceiling, well over the boxes. Are those stages?

 

The diner! Where’s the front wall? It’s supposed to be on the street. I’ve walked through this door a million times,  
how could it just be sitting in a room somewhere? It looks the same, but it’s empty. I’ve never seen the diner  
empty before. There’s always someone there. Deb… someone but… The kitchen’s just gone. How could the  
kitchen be gone? Nothing but boards where the grill used to be.

 

Rooms. Rooms where I work, where I live… just empty rooms made with flimsy walls.  
Deserted snapshots of my life.

 

I don’t want to see this. It makes me feel hollow.

 

Oh, right. It’s his hands on my shoulders, and him standing behind me. I guess I’ve been staring at the diner  
for a while. Didn’t feel like that long. Feels like time’s not passing at all.

 

“Come on.”

 

Maybe I should let him tug me away. Let him steer me through the darkness. Guiding me through… But not yet.

 

“Are you really this physical with him? With Randy?”

 

“Yeah. Remember I told you-”

 

“Or were you just trying to make up with him?”

 

“Maybe it’s a bit of both.”

 

I knew he wouldn’t give me all of it, unless I asked for all of it.

 

“I wanted you to remember the way we were. Christ… So much for avoiding the cliché. Don’t forget, anything you  
did with Brian, I did with Randy. And we’re not even lovers. It’s a job for us. But it requires a certain comfort level,  
a huge leap of faith. Maybe even more than actually doing it. I admire how fearless he can be at times.”

 

“And you’re not fearless?”

 

“It’s easy to be fearless when you have nothing to lose. Kinney 101. Watch your step.”

 

How? There’s barely any light. Some footlights, some emergency lights… How am I supposed to watch my step  
and I can’t even see my feet?

 

This can’t be safe, this walkway’s so narrow. You can hardly squeeze between the… in between the sets.

 

All of it is just a set. Just a place where movie people work… act… where they pretend… to be us… to be me.

 

No. I am alive. I can see my own breath for fuck sake.

 

Holy shit! That’s Mel and Lindsay’s bedroom, right? It’s so dark. I’ve only seen it a couple times when I watched  
Gus but…

 

You’re whole life passes before your eyes…

 

Why do I expect to see them turn the corner any minute?

 

“Do you wanna see them?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“If you wanna see Melanie and Lindsay, I can get them here.”

 

Shit! How long have I been thinking out loud? Maybe it was just the last thing?

 

 

“What, are they gonna come out of one of the closets?”

 

“They’re close. Everyone is. They’re all concerned about you. They all wanna help.”

 

Yeah. I see it now, even in the dimness. His smirk. It’s self-important like Brian. But Brian wouldn’t look away so  
quickly. Brian always knows he’s right. And he usually is.

 

“If you wanna talk to someone, or see someone-”

 

God, I’m love to talk to… “Daphne.”

 

Why are you…Figures… God Gale, I wish you would stop offering things you can’t deliver.

 

“Daphne is Makyla. She’s not… We could find her. I’ll get her number from-”

 

“Forget it.” Hey I called him Gale without thinking about it. Didn’t think I could do that.

 

“Hold on. All I have to do is-”

 

“Melanie and Lindsay. What are their real names?”

 

“Lindsay’s name is Thea and Melanie’s name is Michelle. They’d love to see you.”

 

What about what I want?

 

“Earlier, I wasn’t sure you could handle all the stimulus. But now, I think it might be good for you to see some  
familiar faces, besides me.”

 

In other words, you’re out of ideas and you want some help? Or maybe when you look at me you see Randy, and  
you don’t wanna be reminded what a shit you were.

 

“I don’t know Thea… or Michelle.”

 

“They know you.”

 

Shit it’s cold in here! His hands are really warm at my wrists though.  
So why am I pulling away?

 

“They’ll look at me and they’ll see Randy.”

 

“They know Justin as well as they know Randy.”

 

“I don’t want anyone pretending for me like I’m some freak!” When did I start shouting?

 

He stepped back into a shadow. Why does he do that? Why does he pull away, disengage? “Fair enough.” His  
voice went so quiet.

 

What is that? The air conditioning. Blowing loud as a river, all around me.

 

I didn’t mean to yell but…It’s cold… like I’m not even wearing this sweater or this coat or they’re just not working,  
it blows right through me. Can feel it blasting down on me, but… where’s it coming from? How long are we gonna  
stand in this fucking hallway? Why won’t he say something? I’m so fucking pissed! I want just one goddamn  
thing to start making sense!

 

“Gale, I’m freezing.”

 

“In there.”

 

I didn’t even notice it until Gale nodded at it. Not really a door so much as… an opening.

 

OK. Take me by the shoulders again, lead me through this darkness. At least his hands are warm. Do you like  
that Gale? That I’m completely in your hands…? The one little Justin clings to.

 

Naked guy! We just walked through the dining room wall!

 

Naked guy. God I love this painting. I can barely see it, but it means I’m in the loft. The loft. Just the way we left it.  
No cameras, no spotlights, no people…

 

No ceiling, just pipes. Good thing I guess, it’s the only light in here, the spill over from… well from somewhere.

 

Why is Gale maneuvering me into the kitchen? Is there food here?

 

“Why don’t you wait here? I’m gonna see what I can do about light.”

 

“Could you turn the air off?” Please God, at least make him be able to do that!

 

“Once the lights are on, you’re gonna want the air.”

 

“Please?”

 

Don’t look away Gale, answer me first. Dammit!

 

“I’ll see what I can do. Stay put.”

 

He left the loft door sitting wide open.

 

So still.

 

I wonder what Brian would say if he knew Lindsay and Mel can hear us fucking. Fucking, fighting everything.  
Forget about Brian, what about me, what do I think? How could the loft be right across from Mel & Lindz’s bedroom?  
This couldn’t be more wrong.

 

Wrong or not real?  
Wrong or not real?

 

Shit I feel like a walking Popsicle. Wait. That’s it. Move around, get the circulation going.

 

Maybe I am Randy and I’m having an episode because of all this shit with Gale. But… then why can’t I feel him…  
have some… knowing that he’s part of me… that I’m part of him.

 

Because I’m part of him.

 

All my life, he’s been aware of me, but I’ve never been aware of him.

 

But I have a past! I remember getting my fingers caught in the swing chains and breaking my pinkie on my  
fourth birthday. I remember the first time I held Molly, the day she was born, it was raining and mom said it was  
good luck. I remember my first hellish day at St. James Academy. Every fucking excruciating moment of it.

 

If I’m a character someone made up, how could I know all that, feel all that? I get that this Randy guy is a little  
obsessive about his part, but there’s no way he could have made up every detail of my life. There’s no way…

 

Did you see that kitchen?  
It doesn’t really mean anything, Brian’s a neat freak too.  
It doesn’t necessarily make him scary.  
It just means he likes… order.

How much time did he spend on me? How much time _does_ he spend on me?  
Giving me stories, filling in the blanks making me three-dimensional.  
But I don’t feel like I’m not whole.  
So is that because of Randy or because I am a whole person?

 

Wha… The city… Apartment lights in the dining room, the city skyline... Pittsburgh outside my windows again.  
Guess Gale found the lights. Something I know, something familiar…

 

The loft is physically here. I’m physically here.  
I have to be real. No one’s writing this.  
Me being here, none of that is a script.  
Randy’s not playing me now.  
Where is Randy?  
God, is he with Brian?  
How could he be with... the same way I can be here.  
And if he is with Brian then aren’t we both real?  
If he’s there and I’m here, there are definitely two of us.  
So we’re both real. We’re all real.

I’m real goddammit, I’m, my life is more than a script and fucked up actors.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.  
Gale and everyone here don’t know how this happened.  
Doesn’t that prove they don’t know everything?  
They didn’t plan this.  
He can’t explain what happened, he doesn’t know what happened…  
He doesn’t know how to get me back…  
How do I get back?

How did I get here…

He wouldn’t have sex with me… since when?

Whoa, more lights, coming to life one by one.  
Like they’re trying to surround me. The bedroom, the kitchen, the  
light cube in the living room.

My light cube. I wonder if it's still there.

That fortune I didn’t read to Brian.

The night after the funeral, we sat here on the floor and had Chinese food. I had the stupidest fortune so I made up  
my own. I was doing great until I touched his balls.

Didn’t know not to touch him there at the time.

And Brian pulled away from me, for the first time ever.  
Don’t know why I didn’t just throw it away. I usually only keep  
the good ones.  
I don’t know why I uncrumpled that fortune and save it. Tucked it under this… no this corner.  
Why did I do that?  
It’s still here!

 

_Stick With What You Know; Distrust Novelties._

 

Why is it still here?

Why would a writer or an actor do that?  
Why would I do that?  
Because I’d never read a fortune cookie that I couldn’t make sense of in some way. In bed or otherwise.

 

Hey I can hear myself think. The river is gone.  
Thank God. Thank you Gale.

 

_Distrust Novelties._

 

It didn’t mean anything at the time.

 

_Stick With What You Know._

 

I think I know what it means now.

 

It means I’m real. I’ve always been real no matter what I see happening around me.

 

I’m as real as these pillows and this fortune and that blanket.

 

Wasn’t this the blanket from when I woke up?

 

God, it smells like Brian.

 

Am I really that desperate?

 

_Stick With What You Know._

 

Yeah, I am. Hey if the blanket smells like him, I bet the sheets…

 

Watch your fucking step this time.

 

This bed. His bed. A place you dream of being fucked in.

 

I wonder if Brett knew I was talking about modeling Rage’s bed after Brian’s.  
I don’t care if he did. Not like it’s a secret.

 

Ow. What the… oh. If I’m gonna lie down, maybe I should take these glasses off.  
Have I been wearing them all day?

 

Oh Brian, you are here! All over these sheets. I can’t believe it. I’m really gonna queen out over sniffing sheets.  
Fuck it, I don’t care. I mean this is a rejuvenation bed after all, right?

Fill me.  
This. This is what I wanted.  
I can smell you next to me.  
If only I could feel you too.

 

“It pays to have a theater background. Bet Eric McCormack doesn’t have a fucking clue how to light his stage.”

 

I suppose I could sit up, let him know where I am.  
No, I’m not moving from this spot.  
It’s the closest I’ve been to you all day.  
Let him find me.

I want _you_ to find me.

 

 

“This is it Sunshine. There aren’t any overheads hung at the moment…”  
His voice is closer. Yes he found me, snuggled under the sheets of my rejuvenation bed.

 

“Are you OK?”

 

That sounded like genuine concern. That’s nice. I’m still not moving. “Tired. Cold.”

 

I wonder if he notices how hard I’m smashing my face into this pillow. I guess I should come up for air at some point.

 

Even without the light over the bed, he’s looking brown and beautiful, like _you_. By the look on his face, I think he knows it too.

 

“What about this?”

 

Wow, the way he climbed over me was so graceful, I didn’t expect…  
I didn’t expect him to tunnel under the covers with me, or spoon up behind me.  
Or for him to put his arm around me… or how he’s breathing into my hair...

 

“Body heat?”

 

“It works in the movies.”

 

I can feel him smiling against my ear. It tickles.

 

“Don’t we have to take our clothes off for this it work?”

 

“Clearly, you’ve forgotten how much body heat I give off.”

 

You’ve forgotten, I’m not Randy.

 

“Well, let’s try it this way first.”

 

Did I just think out loud again? Is that why he said that? Is that why he’s moving closer?

 

_Brian, if I hold his hand, you know it’s only because I’m holding you, right?_

 

Yeah, that finger. That single word tattooed on his finger. The first thing I noticed about…

 

“Resist. Why would you… What does it mean?”

 

“Whatever it needs to mean. Resist booze. Resist women. Resist-”

 

“Being an asshole?”

 

“Yeah, occasionally.”

 

Can he scooch any closer to me?

The stillness. It’s not so bad now. I can almost hear the traffic outside the window. Simmering, constant…

 

“Is this ok?”

 

“Sure.”

 

I wonder who he wants to be holding right now. Is he really thinking about me? Doubt it. Which is fine.  
Think of Randy.

They should just fuck and get it over with.  
I bet he’d be a bottom.  
I bet he thinks he’d be a top. The alpha male, the dominant one.  
Doesn’t he realize that giving away your control is actually a kind of control in itself?  
Being a bottom teaches you that. Being with Brian taught me that.

 

Does he do this with Randy? For a job? How can he do that? How can he be nude and touching someone and  
not feel something? I think he does feel something. Maybe not love, but you can’t hold someone like this and  
not feel something.

 

Is this what Gale meant? Am I confused? God, he feels like Brian. Well, he is Brian right?  
I don’t know if I want him to stop. He won’t be Brian in every way I want him to be.  
He won’t kiss me or fuck me or magically put steps outside that door that lead to Tremont Street.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“What for?” I'm _sure_ I wasn't talking out loud that time!

 

“That was for Randy. Maybe if I say it and you see I mean it… Then maybe it'll get thru to Randy. Maybe he'll hear  
me too, and be able to find his way back. And it only stands to reason if he finds his way back, then so will you.”

 

“Only I’m not real, remember?”

 

“I was wrong. You are real. I’m sorry I said that.”

 

“So you don’t think I’m crazy anymore?”

 

“No, I don’t. I think somehow the two of you just... got lost.”

 

The two of us, because I’m just as real as Randy is. I _know_ I am.

 

“I’ll make you a deal. I’ll give you Brian if you give me back Randy.”

 

Is it the sheets? No… _it’s him!_ God, he smells like Brian. That really light spicy musk that smells amazing  
on his skin.

 

Those lips against my neck… he will kiss me! He will be Brian for me. Rubbing his hand against my stomach.  
I can barely breathe he’s holding me so close. The only thing missing now is the hard on pressed against my ass.  
It’s ok. I’ll do without tonight. As long as we can stay just like this.

 

I don’t know how to give you Randy, Gale.

 

But this will do.

 

Oh, when did that happen?  
I can’t believe it.  
Finally, I’m warm.  



	14. Take Two

Something is different.

 

He feels himself waking. With the help of the light against his face.

 

Something is different in his body.

 

A sense of the room begins to form in his mind. The recognition that he is in bed, happy with the pillow beneath his head.

 

The White Stripes’ _Seven Nation Army_ suddenly plays out in soft, synthesized notes.

 

The body spooned up behind him moves away, leaving him exposed to the cold front that filled the room,  
a product of the air conditioning’s steady low growl.

 

“Yeah?… Yeah, last night…He wanted to…I don’t know…”

 

He tries to open his eyes. It is harder than he imagined. Why?

 

He tries to say a name, but the word never takes shape and slips from his lips as a moan.

 

“He’s waking up. I gotta go… OK, I’ll take him… Thanks.”

 

The muted snap of the flip phone is the trigger that allows him to open his eyes.

 

Keeping them open is harder than he imagined.

 

A dull daylight. The world is out of focus. Nothing to make sense of. Might as well close them till his thoughts awaken too.

 

He feels a hand on his shoulder. “Good morning, Sunshine.”

 

It’s not the voice he expects to hear. Not the voice he wants to hear.

 

Another attempt at the right name elicits another moan. His lips are still waking too.

 

“How do you feel?”

 

“I’m…fucking cold.”

 

“Yeah. I think the air comes on automatically with the lights.”

 

The hand on his head weaves its fingers carefully into his hair, brushing slowly, conscientiously. The fingertips  
graze the sensitive bump on his head, and jar him still closer to consciousness.

 

“Shit, sorry,” the whisper came.

 

He feels the missing body replace itself against him. Giving off heat that easily penetrates his sweater. Slowly, as  
if asking permission, a familiar arm snakes around his waist. A thumb rubs at the center of his chest in a familiar way.

 

The body heat feels great but…He can feel it, the slight tension in the shoulders pressed against his back. His  
bedmate is awake, trying to stay still, for him.

 

His bump starts to ache. Just enough to chase off the last remnants of slumber.

 

He sighs deeply in mourning; his wonderful blanket of sleep has vanished.

 

His eyes open with ease now. The world is out of focus.

 

Is it a trick of the light? _When did the cheap looking hospital curtains become window blinds?_

 

He reaches back and grabs hold of the arm around him. He pulls it against him, but it’s not hairy enough.

 

“As much as I’d like to spend the entire day like this…”

 

Wrong voice. Wrong arm. No morning wood. He is totally in bed with the wrong guy.

 

“I have to take you back. They wanna do more tests.”

 

“Tests?”

 

“Your doctors, they wanna-”

 

“No tests. I’m not gonna…” He sees it the moment he rolls onto his back. The piping above him.

 

He sits up instantly. “I can’t see. Where are my glasses?”

 

“There’re right beside you, on your pillow.”

 

His left hand finds them without looking and hastily pushes them onto his face without breaking the gaze he has  
fixed upward.

 

The lighting grid.

 

He looks around.

 

The loft lays spread out before him, silent and empty.

 

He turns to his left arm. There is a small piece of gauze taped to his shoulder. He pulls at it slightly and easily  
sees the dark blue drawing on his arm.

 

The tattoo.

 

Finally, he turns to look at Gale, who watches his antics with great curiosity.

 

Without warning, he sits up all the way and slaps Gale hard across the face.

 

“Shit Randy! What’d you do that for?”

 

“Because you fucking dropped me! You’re an asshole Gale.”

 

“I know! I’m sorry. Christ. How many times to do I have to say it?”

 

“Just once would be nice.”

 

“I’m an asshole, and I’m sorry.”

 

The two men stare at each other. Gale still rubs his cheek.

 

Something is different… somehow.

 

“You called me Randy.”

 

“It’s your name, isn’t it?” Gale answers carefully, obviously not wanting to get nailed again.

 

Randy grabs Gale’s head and smashes their lips together. He kisses Gale urgently, waiting for him to try and slip  
his tongue in his mouth, or open his mouth a little wider to deepen the kiss, or even tilt his head to the side  
so their lips would fit together better.

 

Gale patiently puckers, not resisting the kiss, but not participating either.

 

Randy pulls away and the two stare at each other. “No tongue…”

 

Gale watches Randy carefully. “Are you back?”

 

Randy nods eagerly. “Yeah, I’m back.”

 

Randy throws himself into Gale’s arms and this time Gale returns the embrace. He feels himself shaking, even  
though he doesn’t know why. Maybe he’s still cold. Maybe he is just overwhelmed. His quaking begins to subside  
when Gale pulls him a little closer, hugs him a little tighter.

 

Randy pulls away, shaking his head, distantly. “That was so fucking weird.”

 

“Tell me about it.”

 

Both men sit in bed, watching each other, waiting. The awkwardness is palpable between them.

 

Gale watches a new chill rip through Randy’s body. “We should go. I’ve had Ron’s Explorer since yesterday.  
And we need to get you to the hospital. Make sure you’re OK.”

 

“Hospital…again?”

 

“Your folks are waiting for you there.”

 

Randy's jaw drops. “My parents are here? What are my parents doing here?”

 

“We thought it was an emergency. Randy, you didn’t know who you were yesterday. Yesterday, you were Justin.”

 

Randy lets a half smile rise, remembering. “I sure was.”

 

Gale really wants to ask, but he doesn’t. “We should go.”

 

Randy studies Gale for a long moment. It’s the wrong voice. The wrong arms… “Wait! My trailer.”

 

“What about it?”

 

“I have to go to my trailer.”

 

“Sure, whatever you want.”

 

Randy crawls out of bed slowly. He stands, holding an arm out to brace himself against the wall.

 

“Are you OK?”

 

“I’m fine.”

 

Gale was instantly at his side, resting a steadying hand on Randy’s hip. “You sure?”

 

Randy side-steps Gale’s touch. “I got it,” he says more forcefully.

 

Gale steps aside, watching Randy cautiously descend the infamous three steps to the living room.

 

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

 

 

Randy hears the phone even before he opens the trailer door.

 

_Dancing Through Life._ His cell only rings that song for one person.

 

He grabs the railing to the small metal stairwell and scrambles up the narrow steps, completely unaware of Gale’s  
hands at his waist, the real force that propels Randy forward and keeps him from tumbling backward.

 

He goes straight for the blue and silver cell phone sitting on his bed at the far end of the trailer.

 

“Hello?” A nervous smile rise on Randy’s face as he turns away. “Hey…” His whole world is suddenly this phone call.

 

Gale debates for a moment about whether to stay. Finally, he closes the trailer door as quietly as possible  
and makes his way to the opposite side of the trailer.

 

“No, I’m fine, I…” Randy considers his words for a moment, lets a small laugh escape. “I just got back.”  
It sounds ridiculous, even to him.

 

“I’m sorry, I… He did?… I wish he hadn’t done that… I know but I’m fine. I’m just really tired and… Look, let’s talk  
tonight, our usually time… When do I ever not call?… Yesterday doesn’t count. I was probably unconscious at  
the time… No, no I didn’t mean that I… No, no _please_ , do not come up here. I’ve already got my parents  
to deal with, and there’s nothing you can do anyway so… Listen… Listen, call me the usual time and I’ll tell you  
everything. I promise it’ll give you plenty to write about.”

 

The long silence makes Gale look up.

 

Randy sits on his bed listening.

 

The effect of the voice on the phone is evident by the slowly mounting emotion on Randy’s face. Gale watches  
Randy press his lips together tightly; perhaps to keep from saying something or making that tell tale noise or  
utterance that would reveal… whatever he was holding back.

 

Their eyes meet from opposite sides of the room. Gale realizes he’s been staring.

 

Randy stands and pulls the blue curtain that hangs at the corner of the doorway shut.

 

Gale looks around the small kitchenette, trying not to hear the conversation, even though Randy’s soft, wavering  
voice is the only sound in the trailer.

 

“I know…I know… I will… Call me the usual time… OK… Me too… Bye.”

 

Another long silence follows the beep ending the call. Gale busies himself with looking in Randy’s fridge.  
Fruit, sandwiches, Perrier.

 

When Randy draws the curtain back, Gale sees he has put on another layer between his sweater and coat,  
his gray hooded sweatshirt.

 

“Is everything OK?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I thought there was someone new. Is he coming?”

 

“Probably.”

 

“Is that a good thing?”

 

Randy stands breathing with his eyes closed a while. “Yes.”

 

Once he opens them again, he scans the furniture and countertops in the trailer, judging what will be the best  
anchors as he makes his way to the center of the trailer and its only door in or out.

 

Gale steps forward, reaching out. “Here, let me help you.”

 

“I’m fine.”

 

“Randy-”

 

“I said back off Gale!”

 

Gale’s hands fall to his sides in shock. “What the hell is the matter with you?”

 

“I don’t want your help. I don’t want you touching me anymore,” Randy says evenly.

 

“What? What are you talking about? Why not?”

 

“I just don’t.”

 

“Fine, I can respect that. But right now, you’re shakier than you were last night.” Gale reaches out again.

 

Randy throws up a warning hand between them. “You need to respect my boundaries.”

 

“Your boundaries?”

 

“I say who touches me and how. And you don’t get to anymore.”

 

Gale stops short of touching him. He takes one exasperated, deliberate step backwards as Randy prop himself  
against the closet doors.

 

“Randy, it was your idea. It’s always been your idea.”

 

“I know. I thought it would be the quickest way for you to get used to touching a guy. But we have our shorthand  
now. And we’re pretty comfortable with one another on set so, if we’re not filming, I don’t want you touching me.”

 

“You could at least give me another chance.”

 

“I’ve given you plenty.”

 

“Do you really wanna have this conversation now?”

 

“Yes, I do.”

 

“You can barely stand up.”

 

“I’m just dizzy. I’m fine if I keep still. And I don’t wanna put this off any longer.”

 

“I agree. We shouldn’t.” Reluctantly, Gale goes and stands before Randy. He makes a point to stand facing him,  
but also to remain just out of reach. “Randy, if you don’t know by now that alcohol turns decent guys into shitheads…  
how naïve can you be? Kyle and Aaron-”

 

“Fuck Kyle and Aaron. This is about giving you access to me, to all of me, and you not treating it like a privilege.”

 

“We both gave each other privileges. I recognize that.”

 

“I don’t think you do. I don’t think you know how to treat me Gale.”

 

Randy hears himself. He hates the way it came out, sounding like a wounded lover. But he isn’t sure how else  
to say it. It’s not exactly disrespect they are talking about. It’s not exactly abuse either. In truth, Randy didn’t  
have a lot of time to think about what he would say to Gale, or how he would say it.

 

Communicating the problem between them is harder than Randy thought. Yet, he forces himself to continue.  
“But I’m gonna take the blame and say that that’s my fault, for not… teaching you sooner. So, since I can’t trust you to…  
take care of me, I’ll just have to make it easier for you from now on.”

 

“Randy, it’s not like I try to drop you.”

 

“Well it’s not like you’re trying to be more careful either. If you were, you’d be picking yourself up off the floor right  
alongside me. But somehow, you’re always still standing.”

 

Wariness filled Randy’s eyes. It confirmed Gale’s first instinct since yesterday: he wouldn’t be able to fix this.

 

“So Ran Man’s back from OZ, a different man?”

 

“I’m the same man, but my eyes are wider now.”

 

“Randy, maybe you don’t remember what happened but-”

 

“I remember what happened. Just like I remember Alex saying there’s a reason we’ve never done blocking  
on the steps.”

 

“Then you know it was an accident.”

 

“Four times is not an accident.”

 

Gale recoils in surprise. “So I was right. You’re still mad about those other times. You’ve always been mad  
about the other times.”

 

“Not always.” Randy says in a measured tone. “But I know now that if we’d made less of a joke about it, then  
there probably wouldn’t have been other times.”

 

“You were the first one to make a joke _out_ of it,” Gale argues.

 

“That doesn’t make you any less responsible Gale,” Randy lashes back. “I get to joke about it! _I’m_ the one that  
keeps getting knocked around. _I’m_ the one that gets to make fag jokes in mixed company because I’m the  
one that’s a faggot, _not you!_ ”

 

Randy watches as his words work on Gale, sees them sinking in, knows he’s made his point when Gale looks away.

 

Randy feels his legs turning to mush and knows he can’t wait for Gale’s response any longer. He looks at the  
trailer door, trying to gage the distance. There’s not really much to hold on to between here and there.

 

Dizzy. OK, fine. He’d trade the dizziness over nausea any day.

 

“Randy.”

 

Randy turns to see Gale looking at him intently. There’s an uncommon openness and sincerity in his eyes.  
Randy has no idea what to expect next.

 

Something is different. This moment is different.

 

“I’m sorry.” The words hang in the air between them, chaste with humility. “You have my word. I will _never_ drop you again.”

 

This has never happened before. Randy and Gale have never troubled themselves with such heavy moments.  
They were co-workers, who became friends. Until now.

 

_What are we now?_

 

Randy is surprised that Gale is trying so hard. And yet, all of it is still just words.

 

Trying not to sound indifferent, Randy responds with the only word that comes to mind. “Fine.”

 

He turns his attention back to the trailer door and fights to walk in a straight line, keeping his eyes fixed on the  
narrow stairwell.

 

He succeeds at taking hold of the rail but fails to notice he’s stepped off the first step. Gale grabs him by the waist and  
keeps him from plunging forward.

 

Randy steadies himself against Gale until the world stops swimming. When he feels his legs under him again,  
he carefully unwinds Gale’s arms from around his body.

 

“Jesus, you are most stubborn homosexual I have ever met.”

 

“Because as we both know, we homosexuals are known for our stubbornness.”

 

Randy measures up the three steps leading down to the trailer door. The moment he moves to go for it, Gale  
appears on the first step, blocking his way. "Indulge me, one more day.”

 

Before Randy can say no, Gale slowly takes his hand. He holds it loosely in his, waiting for Randy to pull away.  
He doesn't.

 

"Trust me, one more day." Gale turns around. He takes Randy’s hand and places it on his shoulder.  
“Lean on me.”

**  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

 

 

Danny sees his two lead actors exit Randy’s trailer and immediately walks over to them.

 

When he reaches them, he's too anxious to say anything. He sees Randy holding Gale’s arm, but something  
doesn’t quite seem right, still.

 

“Hi Danny,” Gale speaks first.

 

“Hey Dan,” Randy speaks next.

 

Dan’s face lights up. His brown puppy dog eyes bug out and his words are distorted by how broadly he grins.  
“Hey Randy.”

 

“Thanks for scaring my parents shitless,” Randy adds.

 

“I warned you about having me as your in case of emergency person,” Dan chuckles happily. “They’re waiting  
for you at Queensway.”

 

“We’re headed there right now,” Gale answers.

 

“Good.” Dan takes two steps backwards, not wanting to keep them, but not wanting to let them out of his sight.  
“You boys gonna be alright?”

 

Gale hesitates.

 

Randy sees a shadow of concern enter Dan's eyes and quickly takes Gale’s arm and pulls it around his neck.  
He wraps his arm around Gale’s middle and leans into him. With his best 'enamored Justin façade', Randy  
meets Gale's confused expression with a smile. “Yeah, we’re ok. We’re gonna be just fine.”

****  
__________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Author’s Note: _I Do Not Know, Have Not Met, Nor Ever Made Contact With Gale Harold Or Randy Harrison. It’s All Fiction Kids!_


	15. The Lovers

Brian pulled open the metal door and wasn’t surprised.

 

He closed the loft door two-handed and was almost bowled over by the smell of rosemary.

 

Rosemary chicken and asparagus. An old favorite. Good choice Sunshine. So if that’s dinner…

 

_And I didn't mind_  
It's not my kind  
It's not my time  
To wonder why 

 

Brian stands at the door, waiting to see what will happen next. For the past three days, he had come home  
to his favorite take-out meals and one horny Justin in various stages of undress.

 

He concealed his enjoyment of Justin’s romantic measures well. In fact, Brian never conceded he was being  
romanced at all. It was simply pleasant to have his favorite things, ready and waiting to please him. And he was  
pretty sure Justin’s motives weren’t completely selfless.

 

_Now you're here_  
Now you're away  
I don't want this  
Remember that  
I'll never forget where you're at 

 

This music’s not bad.

 

Justin has been waiting for him every day this week. An impressive feat considering he arrived home at a  
different time each evening. Even today, he left work at four on a whim, deciding to get a head start on the  
weekend and somehow Justin was ready for him.

 

He must be in cahoots with Cynthia.

 

_Don't let the days go by  
Glycerine_

 

It’s glaringly obvious to Brian that Justin has worked out a lot of the kinks over the past few days. Quite a change  
when Brian compared tonight’s setting to the way the week started out.

 

Tonight, the loft is dim. The meal is on target. The music, a love song, sung roughly. Better. Tonight, it seems  
all he needs to do is arrive.

 

Monday, however, Justin could not have been more annoying. Brian had been auditioning models and sizing  
up “baskets” all day long, trying to come up with copy for Brown Athletics’ latest underwear ad, and he came home  
horny as hell.

 

He had arrived home to a stage set for romance. Justin had ordered Thai and wanted to spend a quiet evening in.  
Justin had lit candles for fuck sake. But he forgot to order sesame rolls. He wore a blue see-thru shirt and black  
jeans so tight Brian expected his cock or his ass, or both, to burst the seams at any moment. They were the  
only pair of jeans Brian actually had a hard time peeling off of Justin’s body.

 

There had been music playing that night. Something mellow and acoustic. Practically fucking jazz. Brian hates  
jazz. He hates any music where an instrument tries to take the place of where a voice should be.

 

On Monday, Brian really couldn’t bring himself to care what Justin had done to create a seductive, titillating  
atmosphere. But of course, on Monday night, Justin did care. Brian wasn’t in the mood to talk while Justin just  
wouldn’t shut the hell up. Brian couldn’t even be sure how long Justin went on or about what. He was just  
grateful to get to the fucking. Which, of course, was magnificent once Justin stopped his yammering.

 

A little too quiet afterwards, but magnificent nevertheless.

 

Justin’s blowjobs have always been unparalleled. Everything was always better after sex, great even, no matter  
how they got to it. But that night, Justin’s silence wasn’t his usual contentment. He smiled at Brian on cue.  
But somehow, he just seemed to… give up. He stopped trying to say what he was going to say.

 

Not the perfect button to a perfect sexual encounter. That sucked. But Monday night, Brian wasn’t in the mood  
to go mining into the deep ponderings of a twinkie.

 

_If he’s still sulking tomorrow morning…_

 

The next morning, Brian woke up in bed alone. Justin had already gone.

 

Tuesday evening, along with having ordered the vegetarian lasagna that Brian loved, Justin intentionally picked a  
fight with him. He just launched as soon as Brian got home with his “why don’t yous” and “why can’t yous”.  
Then Justin pushed Brian. Although it was a pretty aggressive shove, by now, Brian knew to take it for what it was:  
bait. That’s how Justin always started when he wanted to go rough.

 

They tussled longer than usual Tuesday night. Whenever Brian had Justin pinned, determined to wring a  
surrender out of him, Justin would bounce away or twist out of his hold somehow. It was like they each fought  
tirelessly to defend their unspoken, yet well established, positions: Youth vs. Experience. Stamina vs. Strategy.

 

Once Brian did get the advantage long enough, he tried to fuck Justin within an inch of both their lives. Twice.

 

They spent all night at their sexcapades, with the final round ending tenderly, exploring orifices, tongues, skin.

 

Brian hadn’t gone that long since losing a ball. It was invigorating. He still had it.

 

And Justin was still happy to get it. Over and over and over again.

 

Brian even considered re-ordering his top ten fucks to include that last passionate, intense, all-consuming  
session of lovemaking. A consideration he decided not to share with Justin. Why encourage the lad; he already  
has too many romantic notions running through that head of his.

 

Last night, Brian had come home to more strange music and the dinner table set for one. Justin had chilled  
a bottle of wine and reheated the untouched lasagna from the night before. Without a word, Justin took Brian’s  
coat and briefcase, kissed his lips and sat him down at the dinner table in perfect Stepford fashion. Whenever  
Brian took a sip or bite, Justin would slowly remove a piece of clothing and let it drop to the floor.

 

A bite: one shoe placed by the coffee table. A sip: his belt discarded on the kitchen floor. A bite: his shirt draped  
across the computer. A sip: his T-Shirt dropped on the floor in front of Naked Guy.

 

Brian tracked Justin’s movements once he realized what he was doing. His cock grew so hard he couldn’t even  
taste the food anymore.

 

Eventually, Justin was stripped down to one sock and his tighty-whities. He stood in the middle of the loft, rocking  
slightly to uninspired guitar strumming, allowing Brian to admire his nudeness.

 

Halfway through his meal, Brian took the napkin from his lap and hurriedly wiped his mouth. He took Justin by the  
hand, led him to the bedroom and kissed him hard before throwing him down on the bed.

 

And the question of the hour: what does Justin have in store for him tonight?

 

Rosemary chicken was an excellent start.

 

_I'm never alone_  
I'm alone all the time  
Are you at one  
Or do you lie 

 

The loft seemed empty, expect for a single melancholy voice tries to keep up with the steady thumbing of a bass guitar.  
The yellow light in the living room windows was beginning to turn orange. A slight breeze ruffles the curtains.

 

“Hi honey.”

 

Justin sits at the computer with his feet propped on the desk. He sits in the chair wearing only his gray Jockeys  
and a tie swung over his shoulder.

 

Brian smiles, pleased. “Hello dear. What’s for dinner?”

 

“Can’t you smell it?” Justin uncrosses his ankles and sets his left foot down on the floor; effectively spreading  
his legs wide open.

 

Brian takes a long look right down the middle, studying the bulge that waits for him. “How could I possibly  
miss it?”

 

Justin gives Brian a slight, controlled smile. “Guess what’s for dessert?”

 

Brian raises an eyebrow. He notes the low voice Justin has chosen. It’s calm, seductive, one of Justin’s most  
powerful tools of enticement. And Justin uses it sparingly, to keep it special.

 

“I’ll bite.”

 

“I hope so.” Justin takes his tie between two fingers and smoothes it slowly down his chest. The silver pin-striped  
tie has lettering and below it, an arrow pointing to his cock. **PRESS TO PLAY.**

 

“Nice tie.” Brian feels an all too familiar heat rising in his pants. Tonight is gonna be hot.

 

“Thanks,” Justin sighs, still withholding an actual smile. “I went shopping this afternoon and saw it and thought of you.”

 

Brian isn’t sure how much longer he can keep a straight face. He puts down his briefcase and clears the  
laughter from his throat. “Have you been watching _Pretty Woman_ again?”

 

“Maybe.” Justin stands and saunters over to Brian. They share a simple kiss.

 

Brian watches Justin unbutton his coat and jacket. More of a smile, but not quite a smile yet. Justin accentuates  
his performance with lots of lip wetting and breathing in deep dramatic sighs. When Justin begins to hum along  
with the singer, Brian says, “You’re high off the rosemary, aren’t you?”

 

“Maybe.” Justin plants his hands on Brian’s chest and kisses his neck, making quick work of undoing Brian’s  
tie, while tonguing at his Adam’s apple. When Brian chuckles, Justin finally smiles back. Brian stands still while  
Justin commences to slowly undress him.

 

“But back to dessert. I was thinking we’d had a generous serving of making out, and then I suck your dick.  
Followed by more making out, and then I suck your dick. Then possibly more making out either before or after  
a rim job. And after that, we can do what you want.”

 

“Someone’s hungry tonight.”

 

“Yes he is.”

 

Brian took the silver tie in his hand and pulled Justin into a deep, feverish kiss before unknotting it.

 

_Don't let the days go by_  
Coulda been easier on you  
I couldn't change though I wanted to  
Shoulda been easier by three  
Our old friend fear and you and me 

 

Justin pulls away first. He licks his lips more, eyes Brian up and down, as if trying to decide where he will begin to  
devour him. His hands work faster.

 

“What is this?”

 

“Bush.”

 

“You’re kidding.”

 

Justin pushes his leg between Brian’s, his toes nudging at Brian’s heels, prompting him to slip out of his shoes  
and agitating his erection. “I know. Doesn’t exact conjure images of cock, does it?”

 

“I have to hand it to you, Sunshine. You found a bush I don’t mind having around the house. They’re not bad.”

 

With Brian’s shirt and jacket tossed on the chair by the computer, Justin backs Brian up against the support beam,  
pulling at Brian’s tucked T-shirt.

 

“It’s important to be resourceful.” Justin tugs until his hands reach skin, then swiftly whips the shirt over Brian’s head.

 

Brian let out another chuckle. That’s _his_ trick, and not an easy one for someone six inches shorter.

 

Brian lets Justin’s fingers play over his bare torso. Justin leans in and rests his head on Brian’s shoulder while  
undoing his pants, panting.

 

Wait, not panting. Justin’s sniffing Brian’s new musk oil. The shit drives Justin fucking wild. Better aphrodisiac than E,  
which only ever gave Justin the giggles. Fuck! Tonight is gonna be hot.

 

Brian bows his head, giving Justin better access to his scent. Justin kisses the bridge of Brian’s nose and slides  
Brian’s pants down his hips.

 

“You know, I could get use to all this special attention.”

 

Brian thinks he sees Justin’s controlled expression waver. Has he said something to destroy the moment?

 

Justin regained his façade. “It’s not that special.”

 

Justin takes Brian’s hand, allowing him to step out of his pants, leading Brian to the bedroom.

 

“So I can expect to find you here, waiting with dinner and sex every night?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

Brian’s heart begins to pound a bit. He’s figured out what tonight is about. Tonight, Justin is going to say yes.

 

“So it only gets better once you move in?”

 

Justin’s back is to Brian. Perhaps that’s why Justin’s voice sounds weird when he answers, “Maybe.”

 

Brian gives Justin’s arm a quick tug, stopping him on the steps. “Because it kinda feels like you already have.”

 

“Good.”

 

Brian sees it immediately. The sunshine smile at full wattage. But the smile is fake. _Fake._

 

Brian allows Justin to pull at his right arm, dragging him up two more steps. He fights to hide his growing  
disappointment. “Except for the part when I wake up and you’re already gone.”

 

Justin pulls Brian up the final step. “You’re really hot tonight. You smell great. God, you smell great.”

 

Flattery. The classic prologue to rejection.

 

_I needed you more_  
You wanted us less  
Could not kiss, just regress 

 

“So when do I get my answer, Sunshine?”

 

“About what?”

 

“You said you’d think about it.”

 

“I will.”

 

Justin reaches for Brian’s left hand, but he pulls away before they touch.

 

“Then why are we headed up here?”

 

“I do my best thinking in bed.” Brian hears Justin trying to force the sexy voice. But it’s gone.

 

“Bullshit.” Brian’s heart breaks into a gallop. He knows he failed to hide it.

 

“It is not bullshit.” Justin takes a step towards Brian; Brian steps away. With fresh bedroom eyes, Justin reaches  
out and begins to draw circles on Brian’s chest with his fingers. “I think about whether you’ve been naughty or nice.  
I think about which toys we haven’t used in a while. I think about how far I can stick my-”

 

“Just forget it.” Brian doesn’t remember how Justin’s arms came to encircle his waist. Just that he pushed them away.

 

“Come on.” Justin takes a step closer.

 

“I said forget it.” Brian takes a step back.

 

Justin grabs for Brian’s right hand. “Wait a second-”

 

“Let go-” Brian pulls his right hand free of Justin’s and turns in one motion.

Frustrated, Justin grabs Brian’s left wrist.

Brian gasps at Justin’s tug and they both instantly remember his newly healed shoulder.

Brian reaches for his shoulder, turning around and pulls away the same moment Justin sees the flinch and instinctively lets go.

Brian feels his foot tilting halfway off the step the same moment he watches Justin’s eyes widen.

He reaches out the same moment Justin does.

Their fingertips graze, then slip away, unable to take hold.

Gravity takes over.

Brian can’t get his feet under him.

Still reaching, Justin begins speeding away from Brian.

Suddenly, time passes fiendishly slow as he watches Justin watch him fall.

_Shit I can’t stop it I can’t let this happen he can’t see me like this again it can’t be me_ “FUCK!”

 

 

 

They gasp in unison.

Their eyes flash open at the same time.

 

 

 

Brian is the first to come around. He remembers the hospital room, but not from this angle.

 

He is in the bed now, not Randy. Why?  
Randy was the one who fell.  
No, Justin was the one who…  
But if what he just dreamt was…  
It’s true.

Brian remembers thinking:

_Shit I can’t stop it_  
I can’t let this happen  
he can’t see me like this again  
it can’t be me- 

__

 

_It can’t be me._

 

That little shit and he do have something in common.  
Weakness is intolerable.

So is that _my_ lesson? Weakness, frailty is human, get over it?

_Fuck that shit._ That’s something he’s never gonna get used to.

 

Brian feels more clear the same moment he realizes the back of his hand hurts like a motherfucker. He thinks  
it’s the IV needle. He remembers the pinching sensation.

 

Of course it could also be the fact that his hand is encased between Justin’s two palms, with Justin’s head  
resting on top of them.

 

Justin’s eyes are open, but Brian can tell he is not really seeing, maybe not even awake. “Justin?”

 

Justin blinks and sighs. His eyes drift upward until they make contact with Brian’s.

 

“Hey.”

 

Justin gasps, sitting straight up in his chair beside the bed. “Brian!”

 

“Hi.”

 

Justin looks about wildly, taking in the hospital room around him. His attention quickly leads back to Brian. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

 

Brian watches Justin consider the question carefully. He sees him having the memories & sorting through images  
in his head. “I’m not sure, I…”

 

“You weren’t kidding. I can hardly fucking move,” Brian groans. “Justin, can I have my hand back?”

 

Justin looks down, sees how he clutches Brian’s hand and instantly pulls both hands away. “Shit! Sorry. I didn’t  
mean to… How did you… I thought I was the one that-”

 

“Me too.”

 

“Then how did we-“

 

“I think I did it.”

 

“What do you mean you did?”

 

“I don’t know exactly. But-”

 

“Brian, what the fuck are you talking about? How? How did this happen? What happened? I think… I just saw…  
but, how? I remember… but that can’t be right. It’s not possible. It’s just not possible.”

 

“Justin, please. I’ve heard that phrase enough times in the past 24 hours to last me the rest of my fucking life.  
It’s possible.”

 

Justin looks at Brian eagerly. “You mean…”

 

“Help me sit up. There are buttons on the side of the bed.”

 

Justin quickly reads the buttons and holds down the green one until Brian’s lifted up to a comfortable angle.  
“How’s that?”

 

“Good. Come here.” Justin stands and moves closer to Brian’s head. “Bend over.”

 

Justin gives Brian a strange look before bending forward.

 

Brian pats around the back of Justin’s head, prodding.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

Brian runs his fingers across Justin’s scalp, feeling for that notorious lump. When he doesn’t find it, he relaxes  
into a sigh. “Just checking.”

 

Brian sinks into the bed a little and for the first time, Justin sees the IV tower dripping, feeding the tubing in Brian’s  
arm. Some kind of pad or wrap sits placed on Brian’s left shoulder. He looks exhausted, but still hot in his blue  
hospital smock. That scent hits Justin. That faint, spicy…

 

Already leaning, Justin bows down further and kisses Brian gently. Small kisses, tentative kisses filled with  
warmth and restraint.

 

Brian lies still while Justin bathes his lips with affection. He tries to lean into the slow licking, the timid sucking,  
the slow darting of tongue. But his energy quickly fails him and he has to come up for air. The one hand he can  
move drifts to Justin's shoulder.

 

Justin finds a few inches and slips onto the mattress alongside Brian. “Brian, have I been here the whole time?”

 

“I think so. Though I don’t remember when we switched parts this last time.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“You were here. But you haven’t exactly been yourself,” Brian answers.

 

Justin’s eyes grow a little wider. He speaks a little slower. “How do you mean?”

 

“Randy? Was that his name?” Brian asks, already knowing the answer.

 

“Holy Fuck! He was _here_? You _met_ him? Shit, it _was_ real. All of it, it really happened!”

 

“As far as I can tell.”

 

“Do you believe him?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“That our lives are a fucking television show?”

 

“Justin, who the fuck cares? Let them… believe whatever they wanna believe. I know I’ve never let anyone  
tell me what the fuck to do or say in my life and I’m not about to start now. Script or no fucking script.”

 

Justin smiles; that is the right answer. “So you knew it wasn’t me?”

 

“I figured it out soon enough.”

 

Justin bites his bottom lip. “What was he like?”

 

Brian takes a moment, closes his eyes, remembering. “Stubborn, high strung, a little fucked up.  
Your typical artist. Did I mention stubborn?”

 

“So you two were made for each other?”

 

“What was he like? The guy who… was me?”

 

Justin takes his turn to think back. He touches Brian’s face, staring at him longingly. “He wasn’t you. I can’t see  
how he could ever be you.”

 

“I guess that’s why they call it acting.” Brian manages to sit up a little. “So what did you learn?”

 

Justin searches Brian’s face, then shakes his head, clueless.

 

Brian adds, “Daphne decided this all happened because there was something you had to learn.”

 

“If you ask me, I think I was stuck there because I had to help that asshole learn his lesson.”

 

“Maybe you’re right.”

 

“I guess, maybe, I learned that it’s hard for me, not having you around. But if I had to, I’d survive.”

 

“Now that, boys and girls, is an important lesson. I’ll have to think up a special prize just for you.”

 

The hand on Brian’s cheek travels to his hair absentmindedly. Brian can see Justin is somewhere else.  
“Justin, it’s over. Everything’s OK now.”

 

“No, it’s not OK. I can’t take much more of this. You took off your arm brace before your doctor told you to,  
didn’t you? With all that hard fucking the other night, you didn’t even say a word. How’m I supposed to know  
your shoulder’s not fully healed if you don’t fucking say something? You go on the Liberty Ride and get hurt, while  
you’re still recovering. And then you get cancer. Brian, you have to start taking care of yourself because I don’t know  
how much more of this I can take.”

 

Brian shakes his head. He had expected drama princess to surface way sooner than this. “First of all, all that  
is completely backwards. Second, I’m the one that’s taking it. And lastly, since when is there a fucking thing I can do  
about getting cancer?”

 

“It’s just a lot to deal with over the past few months. I don’t want anything else to happen to you. I want you safe.  
I want you to be around a long time.” Justin seals the statement with a kiss.

 

Brian gives Justin a curious look. “What episode did I say that?”

 

Justin’s eyes bulge. “How the fuck should I…? Don’t fucking do that Brian! It freaks me the hell out. Let’s not talk  
about that anymore. Ever. I just meant… when you said that to me, you meant it right?”

 

“Right.”

 

“Well, I just want you to know I mean it too. I love you.”

 

Brian holds Justin’s gaze, proud of himself for not looking away. Is he actually getting used to that fucking sentence?  
As long as Justin was the one saying it…

 

“I’m not going anywhere. After all, they already tried to write me out once and couldn’t do it. You should know by now,  
I’m fucking invincible. And that goes for you too, you know. How about giving me a little notice next time, before  
you just up and vanish.”

 

Justin’s expression falters. Like a deer in headlights. Like he is caught in the act of…what? Like Brian just  
mentioned something he isn’t supposed to know.

 

Like Randy had looked at Brian: as if Brian had mentioned something he wasn’t supposed to know.

 

Justin slips from Brian’s bedside. “I guess I should try and find your doctor. What’s his name?”

 

Avoidance. Another classic precursor to rejection.

 

Brian forces himself to smile. “Hell if I know. Last time I saw him, you were in this bed. Why get anybody?”

 

“Because they always want to see the patient when he wakes up,” Justin answers, inching towards the door.  
“Don’t worry, I’ll be back.”

 

“Will you?”

 

“Sure I will.”

 

“Because if it’s what you want, then you should go. If you’re gonna stay, you need a better reason than me.”

 

“Brian, what the fuck are you talking about? I’ll stay as long as you want me to.”

 

“But you’re not moving in. Are you?”

 

Justin’s hand falls away from the door handle. His eyes stay glued to Brian’s face as he silently walks across  
the room and eases back onto the bed.

 

Brian’s slightly sedate manner hardens, succeeding in hiding his disappointment. He can see Justin searching  
for the right words, but holds steady in his instant decision to not care.

 

Justin takes Brian’s warm hand in his. “No. No I’m not.”  



	16. By Request

“How’s the happy couple this morning?”

 

Justin and Brian both looked over and saw Michael poking his head into the hospital room, wearing a ridiculously wide grin. With a single exchanged glance, they agreed to remain silent and wait for a cue from Michael.

 

Brian slowly pulled his hand from Justin’s. He used his elbows to prop himself up in bed and greeted his best friend with his usual, knowing half smirk. “Sadly, I can think of happier moments I’ve spend on my back.”

 

“We’ll get back to that soon enough,” Justin assured him quickly.

 

“You might wanna let him get out of the hospital before incapacitating him again.” Michael missed Justin’s forced   
smile as he walked to the foot of Brian’s bed. “So are you excited to go home today?”

 

“Today?” Justin’s eyes darted from Michael to Brian. Brian successfully hid his surprise.

 

“Isn’t that what your doctor said?” Michael asked innocently.

 

“But isn’t it too-”

 

“See there, Mikey?” Brian interrupted Justin. “You ruined the surprise.”

 

Michael giggled, pointing at Justin. “He looks pretty surprised to me.”

 

Justin rested a hand on Brian’s shoulder. “Are you sure? How do you feel?”

 

“Good as new.”

 

Brian ignored Justin’s concerned look as Michael prattled on. “I’d take you home and give you a proper  
homecoming but I wanna go over to Mel and Lindz’s and spend time with Jenny Rebecca. I’m gonna bite the   
bullet and brave the bare breasts to be there for a feeding.”

 

Brian cocked his head to the side in mocking adoration. “Why Mikey, becoming a dad has made you so eloquent.”

 

“You think so?” Michael asked earnestly.

 

“Don’t worry, I’ll give Justin a ride home.”

 

“I think your doctors would prefer it if you let Justin drive.”

 

“I guess I should bring you something to wear, too,” Justin added quietly, slipping off the bedside.

 

“See that? Aren’t boyfriends great? Perfect for a hundred and one uses. Even though I’m sure you’re only   
interested in the one.”

 

Michael’s presence was forgotten briefly while Justin and Brian shared an awkward silent moment. Justin tried   
in vain to read Brian’s expression. When Brian gave no clue, as usual, Justin leaned in and planted a kiss on   
Brian’s lips. “I’ll go get things ready at home. You’ll be okay?”

 

“Aren’t I always?”

 

“I’ll be back soon.”

 

Before Justin was even out the door, Michael had replaced him at Brian’s bedside. 

 

“Don’t you have enough to worry about without you and Justin playing wrestle mania? I mean, you practically killed   
yourself doing the Liberty Ride.”

 

“If one more person starts listing off my supposed frailties, I’m gonna fucking kill someone,” Brian huffed.

 

“Better not be me, I have a kid to raise. And so do you, for that matter. So think about that before you go on your   
killing spree and land your ass in prison.”

 

Brian was only half listening. His eyes drifted to the door Justin had just disappeared behind. “I should have   
let him go, Mikey.”

 

“What?”

 

“Made a clean break when I had the chance,” Brian added at half voice.

 

Michael cast a look towards the door. “Oh, not that again. Brian, Justin hasn’t left this hospital for two days.”

 

“That’s what you think.”

 

“That should be a pretty clear indication that he’s not gonna leave you. One ball or not. Bruised brain or not.  
He loves you. Get use to it.”

 

Brian finally looked at Michael. “Then you haven’t heard the latest from Hollywood yet, have you?”

 

Michael began to beam again. “Sure I have. We got a greenlight. They’re gonna make Rage into a movie.  
Which means Justin and I have to brainstorm over ideas and storyboards for Brett, so he’ll be spending every   
waking moment with me for a while. Well, at least every waking moment when I’m not over Mel and Lindz’s   
spending time with Jenny. But that doesn’t mean Justin’s going anywhere. You can have him back, all to yourself,   
soon enough.”

 

When Brian didn’t respond, Michael jabbed him lightly on the side. “You’ll be less cranky once you can sleep in   
your own bed, surrounded by memories of all the fabulous tricks you’ve had there. Not that you do much sleeping   
in that bed.”

 

“Brett offered him a job.”

 

“Offered who a job?” Michael asked off the cuff.

 

Brian sigh, annoyed, wondering how long Michael would have baby on the brain, impeding all other coherent   
thought. 

 

Realization hit Michael broadside. “Who, Justin?”

 

“Who else Justin,” Brian answered impatiently.

 

“What kind of job? Why didn’t he tell me?”

 

“As assistant art director on Rage and he didn’t tell me either, until just now.”

 

“That little creep has been holding out on all of us! On me! He hasn’t said a word,” Michael whined.

 

“Well, daddy, you have been a little busy lately. And I’m guessing he only told one person.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Daphne. That’s what they were trying not to say in front of me. Although I don’t think Randy knew if I knew. Christ,   
now I need a script to keep it all straight.”

 

“What’re you going on about? Who’s Randy?”

 

“Just a guy who slipped from his own parallel reality something or other, and landed on my loft floor.”

 

“Since when do you know anything about alternate realities?” Michael’s grin bloomed yet again. “My comic   
book speak has finally sunk in, huh?”

 

“No, he was really here.”

 

Michael tilted his head playfully. “Maybe, Justin’s right. Maybe you do need to stay a little longer. Have them examine   
your head again.”

 

“There’s nothing fucking wrong with me.” Brian flexed his wrist, flinched at the pinch. “If someone, anyone, in a white   
coat has signed off, you can bet your ass I’m getting the hell out of here.”

 

Michael threw his hands up. “Okay, fine. Just asking.”

 

Brian’s gaze fell on the door once more. Suddenly, he sat up and stretched his limbs, flexed his back. “I need your cell.”

 

“You’re not supposed to use cell phones in a hospital,” Michael chided.

 

“You’re not supposed to smoke in ‘em either.”

 

Michael eyes widened the same moment his jaw dropped. “Don’t tell me-”

 

“Okay, I won’t.” Brian held his hand out, waiting.

 

Michael dug in his pocket and handed Brian the small phone. “What’s so important that it can’t wait till you get home?”

 

Brian began to dial intently. “It’s a surprise.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Justin didn’t think about why the keys to the ‘Vette were in his pocket, or how he knew exactly where the car was parked.   
He didn’t bother to question how he even got home, since he remembered nothing about the drive back.  
The road was the last thing on his mind. Thank god for muscle memory. 

 

The loft was exactly how he remembered. Brian’s suit lay on the floor and across the chair, his tie dropped on top.   
The smell of rosemary still lingered. 

 

What was he going to do?

 

Justin pulled the loft door shut, hoping to propel himself into action. 

 

It worked. He dumped the dried-up chicken and shriveled asparagus into the garbage and wiped down the   
counter top. He straightened the curtains that were in disarray for some reason, slightly open, slightly rumpled.   
He realigned his light cube with the wall the way Brian liked it. He gathered Brian’s clothes and put them in the   
laundry room, sorting the dry cleaning only from the machine washables. He changed the sheets and made the   
bed, only to come across the small slip of paper on the nightstand. His fortune.

 

Stick With What You Know. Distrust Novelties.

 

Justin wasn’t sure what it meant that he found the fortune, not under the cube where he originally hid it, but by   
the bed; the same place he left it while he was in the real world.   
Maybe it meant more of the same. That it really happened.   
That he really is real.

 

Justin pulled his sweater over his head, preparing to take a shower, when he heard the loft door open.

 

He met Daphne halfway into the living room. Her face was such a welcome sight, until she shouted at him.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

Justin stopped in his tracks. That wasn’t the reception he was expecting. “I live here. What are you doing here?”

 

“Brian asked me to bring some clothes for you because you’re coming home today. Only you don’t have any   
clean clothes at my place.” 

 

“When did he ask you to do that?”

 

“Don’t change the subject,” Daphne said, frowning. She crossed her arms, fuming. “Justin, I swear, if you left the   
hospital before the doctors said it was ok-”

 

“Daphne, Brian’s the one in the hospital.”

 

Daphne’s nose wrinkled with confusion. “Since when?”

 

“Since I just left him there. He’s the one that got hurt, not me.”

 

“But I saw Brian carrying you out of here, over his shoulder like you were dead or something.”

 

“He carried me?” Justin mimicked, not sure how he felt about that piece of information.

 

Daphne stepped closer. She touched his arms, scanning his body, trying to decide. “He tried to get you to the   
hospital like all day from what I could tell. But you wouldn’t leave. So he threw you over his shoulder and whisked   
you out the door. It would’ve been sweet if you didn’t look like you were dying.”

 

“Dying?”

 

Daphne stepped a little closer. She reached up to run her fingers through Justin’s hair. “Justin, you totally blacked   
out. Did you faint or something?”

 

Justin batted her away, irritated. “No! And will you cut that out? I’m starting to feel like I’m trapped in a fucking   
shampoo commercial.”

 

“Then what happened?”

 

“I… don’t know. I don’t remember.”

 

Suddenly Daphne gasped, causing Justin to jump a little. “Oh my God! Justin? Is it you? I mean, you’re not actor   
guy anymore, are you?”

 

“Shit, you met him!”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“So you know what happened?”

 

Daphne’s nose wrinkled again. “Well yeah! It was the weirdest thing ever. But still so cool.”

 

Justin drifted back to the steps and sat down on the landing. “Michael is at the hospital with Brian now. He doesn’t   
remember anything that we remember. It’s like Brian was always the one in the hospital.”

 

Daphne sat down with him, thinking. “Maybe only the people you interacted with remember. That would make   
sense actually. Kinda like if a tree falls in the forest and no one’s there to hear it, does it still make a sound   
kinda thing.”

 

“So you remember because you met Randy?”

 

“Probably.”

 

“Did he meet anyone else?”

 

“Oh, shit.”

 

“What? What!”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“No, I’m fine, I…I just got back.” Justin walked the middle of the loft, shaking his head, the cordless phone   
glued to his ear. “I’m sorry, I… He did?… I wish he hadn’t done that… I know but I’m fine. I’m just a little tired   
and… Mom, let’s talk tonight… When do I ever not call?… Yesterday doesn’t count… No, please, please, do not come   
over here… Mom… Mom, call me later and I promise I’ll explain everything.”

 

Justin stopped pacing and listened from the center of the loft. “I know…I know… Mom… I gonna go… Me too… Bye.”

 

Justin stared at the phone for a few minutes after ending the call. He sighed and rejoined Daphne at the bedroom   
steps. “It doesn’t sound like he talked to her. She said I was asleep the whole time. I hope he didn’t talk to her.”

 

Daphne watched Justin fondle the cordless phone nervously, then decided to let loose her excitement.  
“He was a total spaz. He kept flying around the loft like he was afraid his ass would explode if he actually sat down.   
God. He was so intense. He totally needs to start using decaf. And you should have seen his face when we   
finally figured out what was happening.”

 

“You figured it out?”

 

“Of course I did. You know between you and me, I’m the best person to have around in a crisis. Although I still   
can’t figure out why all the cool stuff happens to you. So did you get to meet the real Brian?”

 

“Brian is the real Brian.”

 

Daphne nudged Justin hard. “You know what I mean. The guy that plays Brian.”

 

“His name is Gale.”

 

“Who ever heard of a guy named Gale? Oh well, is he really an I-don’t-give-a-shit, super homo with a canon  
between his legs?”

 

“Daphne!” They both laugh, shocked. 

 

“Hey, we’re best friends. I at least get lusting privileges. So!?…”

 

“From what I could see, no,” Justin answered modestly. Next he turned and stared hard at Daphne.   
“So explain that, since all this makes so much sense to you. How could he be Brian and his dick be so… average?”

 

Daphne's eyebrows suddenly arched. “It’s a question of realities. In ours, Brian is majorly hung. In that reality,   
he’s not even Brian, he’s the guy that’s pretending to be Brian. As long as it’s in the script, it’s true here. In that   
reality, they have to pretend. You are so lucky. You get to have the real thing. Which would also explain Michael   
not knowing what happened. It didn’t happen for him, so it’s not real for him, even here. He’s not part of that reality.”

 

“How do you do that?”

 

“Do what?”

 

“Makes sense of just everything.”

 

“It takes a practical mind, m’dear.”

 

“And it doesn’t bother you at all that you, that all of us, could just be made up? The figment of someone’s  
fucking imagination?”

 

“In that reality, I’m a figment of someone’s imagination. Here, I’m real. We’re all real. It’s not like our lives   
are gonna end just because a TV show gets cancelled or something. It ends for the people pretending to be us   
and the people who think we’re not real. Here in our reality, we’ll still be living our lives, laughing, crying, falling in love, dying.”

 

“That’s real poetic, Daph.”

 

Daphne sat up proudly. “I have my moments.”

 

“So what does your practical mind think I should do about Brian?” Justin asked quietly.

 

Daphne shrugged playfully. “Wait until you guys are in the bed before you start fucking around from now on.”

 

“That’s not what I mean. And you can forget that, that’ll never happen.” Justin threw Daphne a sheepish look before   
saying; “He figured it out, about the movie and the job offer, before I could tell him.”

 

“I told you not to wait!” Daphne demanded.

 

“I know, you were right, I know,” Justin replied weakly. “But it’s too late for that now. So what do I do now?”

 

Daphne flashed Justin a hopeless look and sighed. He felt her head come to rest on his shoulder.

 

Just as he feared, Daphne was out of answers. “I don’t know what to do, Daph. He’s already started pushing   
me away.”

 

Daphne lifted her head. “You can’t let him push you away Justin.”

 

“I don’t know how to stop him.”

 

“Just don’t let him! Push back.”

 

Justin stared into Daphne’s face. Her brown eyes were shining and her nose gave a rambunctious flare. It felt   
good to have her next to him. Electric and calming at the same time.

 

“I love you, Daph.”

 

Daphne stopped grinning and looked back at Justin, touched. “I love you, too.”

 

“In a platonic, straight, best friend kinda way.”

 

“Sure, right.”

 

“You make a guy wanna switch teams.”

 

“Really?” Daphne beamed.

 

“No,” Justin grinned.

 

Daphne and Justin fell against each other, laughing. “Jerk.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Justin felt his nervousness peak when Brian and he returned home to the loft. Brian had let him drive the  
“Vette without fanfare. He didn’t refuse Justin’s help hands, but Brian didn’t seem to need any help either. 

 

Brian didn’t seem disoriented or miserable or even a little tired. His concussion was treating him much better   
than Justin’s had treated him. Justin stole a moment during the drive home to play in Brian’s hair and couldn’t   
even find a lump like he had. Maybe Brian had more time to heal than Justin did. As far as Justin could figure,   
they had lost a day, beyond the time they each spent separated in their different realities. 

 

But Justin was glad things were falling back into place. Brian was fine. They were fine. Life could get back to normal.   
For now.

 

Justin saw Brian eying the candles right away. A single candle burned on the center of the coffee table in the   
living room, another on the dining room table.

 

“They’re linen scented.”

 

Justin tugged at Brian’s jacket. His partner had worked the jacket half way down his arms when he spotted the candles.

 

Justin pulled Brian’s arms free and rested a hand on Brian’s back. “Rosemary was still lurking when I got home. I figured I should clean our palette.”

 

“What self-respecting homo wouldn't have an apartment that smells like sheets?” Brian quipped.

 

“Are you hungry?” Justin asked, grinning proudly.

 

"Starving.”

 

“I could order take out. What are you in the mood for?”

 

“No take out. Not tonight.”

 

Justin hung up Brian’s jacket and skipped to the refrigerator. “Um. How about that pasta you like? You know the   
one with the dries tomatoes?”

 

“A home cooked meal. Sounds yummy.”

 

Justin snickered at Brian's use of the word 'yummy'. “Why don’t you go relax? I’ll whip something up for us.”

 

A flurry of butterflies rise in Justin’s stomach as Brian approached him. He felt a frightened excitement wash over   
him when Brian caught a hand around his waist and pulled him close. It was foreign and familiar at the same   
time; as if they were on their first date all over again.

 

Brian bowed his head and pulled Justin into a deep kiss, his tongue probing further and further into Justin mouth.   
Justin almost got lost in the ecstasy of it when the cold rolling up his back reminded him they were leaning into   
the open fridge. Justin gave a laugh and pulled away. Brian just stared down at him, seemingly spreading the   
taste of Justin’s mouth around in his own.

 

“I’m gonna take a shower, and shave.”

 

“Just shower,” Justin urged. “Save the shave for tomorrow.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I like it rough,” Justin answered, running his hand over Brian’s whiskered cheeks.

 

“Even on a Sunday?”

 

“Especially on Sundays.”

 

Justin smiled mischievously and kissed his boyfriend again. They parted and Justin watched Brian slowly make   
his way to the bedroom. The sound of the shower running reminded him that he was supposed to be cooking.

 

Justin doubted Brian even knew there were vegetables in his own fridge. The Alfredo pasta was a stir fry dish   
in a bag that Justin simple dumped into a sauce pan and added the dried tomatoes at the end.

 

He looked up when he heard U2 begin to play in the bedroom. 

 

Brian rarely put music on, unless it was to cover up the sounds of wild sex. U2 was an uncharacteristically  
thoughtful choice.

 

Justin smiled. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad after all. Maybe they weren’t even gonna fight about it.  
Maybe he should just relax.

 

Justin found the lid for the saucepan, covered the dish and glanced up again. His silly grin fell away when he saw   
Brian standing at the windows of the bedroom, watching him. The way Brian stared was unsettling somehow. 

 

Justin mustered an affectionate smile anyway. 

 

Finally, Brian smiled back, before disappearing into the bathroom.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Justin had sprinkled dried tomatoes in the ready pasta once he heard the show turn off.

 

That was ten minutes ago.

 

He hadn’t heard Brian moving around or getting dressed.

 

The U2 CD had started over again.

 

Justin hesitated. He didn’t want to check up on Brian; Brian would hate that. But the stillness was starting to bother him.

 

Fuck it, let him be pissed, that’s normal too, right? 

 

Justin slid off the stool and headed for the bedroom when someone knocked on the front door. Momentarily   
torn, Justin walked to the loft door.

 

A uniformed bleach blonde stood on the other side. “I have a delivery for Justin Taylor.”

 

“That’s me.” 

 

Justin smiled nervously when the driver rolled in a three-piece luggage set, silver and shiny. On the lid and   
handle of each suitcase, there was engraved J. Taylor. They were beautiful. 

 

“There’s a card,” the driver said, sliding the envelope from his clipboard and handing it to Justin.

 

Excitement slowly subdued Justin’s anxiousness. His grin of disbelief grew wider. He read the card:

This time make sure you take every last piece of your shit with you. ~B

 

Justin stared at the card, at the luggage, gutted.

 

“Los Angeles is a long way from home.” Justin turned to see Brian standing in the doorway to the bedroom.  
He wore his brown Pajama bottoms and his face was expressionless. “You wouldn’t want to forget anything.  
You might as well start packing now.”

 

Brian walked back into the bedroom.

 

“Sign here please.”

 

Justin glanced at the clipboard and pen before him. Numb.

 

“Sir?” the driver sighed, still holding out the clipboard.

 

“Take it back, “ Justin whispered before he really knew what he was saying.

 

“Sir, you have to sign for this.”

 

“I don’t want it.”

 

“It’s paid in full. You have to accept it.”

 

“The fuck I do. Take it back.”

 

Justin pulled the loft door open, ignoring the disgruntled mumblings of the driver. Once completely out the door,   
Justin unleashed his frustration on the door, pulling it shut with all his might. The clang resounded loudly  
throughout the loft. The steel still vibrated under his hand moments after.

 

He should have known.

 

Justin counted to three and turned from the loft door. 

 

Brian stood in the bedroom doorway. “You’re still here?”

 

He walked away again, out of Justin’s sight.

 

Justin dropped the card in the wastebasket by the door and walked to the bedroom, gearing up to push back.

 

 

“Why would I leave you?”

 

Brian didn’t hear Justin climb the steps the bedroom. He was surprised the door slamming was not Justin finally   
leaving for good. He miscalculated how hurtful the card would be. Either he was loosing his touch, or Justin’s   
skin was getting thicker. Neither prospect thrilled him. “Because you’re so good at it?”

 

“You mean for the same reason you’re such an asshole all of the time?” Justin answered. “I know Ethan   
was my mistake, but it wasn't all mine.”

 

“Well, I’m sure you could think of some other reason,” Brian taunted. 

 

“How about lying to me about going on the Liberty Ride. Oh no, wait. You lying to me all the time, that’s  
nothing new.”

 

“I’m getting predictable in my old age,” Brian replied indifferently. “I’ll have to remedy that.”

 

“Maybe I should leave you over cruising a guy no handed while riding a ten-speed.”

 

When Brian looked at Justin surprised, Justin simply shrugged.

 

“Michael can’t keep his name to himself. You really didn’t expect him to keep that a secret. Besides, that’s not out   
of character for you either.”

 

“Bet you didn’t see the broken clavicle coming, did you?” Brian retreated to the bathroom. 

 

“It’s assistant art director on a feature film,” Justin reasoned, following after him.

 

“You told me.”

 

Brian grabbed a towel and started to dry his hair more thoroughly, wondering how long he would have to endure   
Justin’s assault. He knew he wouldn’t last very long.

 

“It could be years before I have a chance like this again. If ever.”

 

“You’d be a fool not to go for it.”

 

“Brett thinks Rage could even be a franchise.”

 

“Well there you have it. The perfect reason not to come back at all.”

 

Brian threw the towel hard into Justin’s chest and pushed past him. He walked into the bedroom without looking   
back. It’s the small jabs that hurt Justin the worst.

 

Brian felt Justin walk up behind him as he reached for the cigarettes on the night stand. 

 

“You’re so fucking quick to count off the reasons why I’d leave! You never talk about the reasons I should stay.”

 

Brian turn halfway, a cigarette hanging off his lips “Are there any? Because compared to a career in the movies,   
I honestly can’t think of one.”

 

“How about you want me to stay? Because it would make you happy.”

 

Brian couldn’t get his lighter to work. “I told you, don’t do anything for me. I can make myself happy.”

 

“Isn’t that what it means to be partners? That we’re both responsible for each other’s lives and feelings?  
I’m responsible for your happiness, just like you’re responsible for mine. That’s what love means.”

 

Brian shook his head in disbelief.

 

All blonde twinkies are sentimental. It was the same shit Randy laid on him right before he crashed.   
“Fucking life imitating art.”

 

Brian gave up on the lighter and headed for the kitchen. 

 

Justin stepped in his path. “Don’t walk away from me.”

 

“I’m just following your example."

 

“Oh my God! How many times do we have to do this? I’m not leaving you!”

 

“I bet there’s a plane ticket in your future that says differently.”

 

Brian backed away again when Justin reached for him. He knew if Justin touched him long enough, in the   
right way, just like Justin always does, then he wouldn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of standing his   
ground a second longer.

 

“It’s just for a few months. I’m coming back.”

 

“Of course you are. I mean after all, you can travel to the moon and back and still never find someone who can   
fuck you like I can. By the way, did you get your fill last week? Have I fucked you enough to get you through  
the summer?”

 

Brian watched Justin’s face grimace in shock. Nice Dig. That should do it. 

 

“That’s not what that was about,” Justin answered firmly.

 

“Oh really?”

 

“I was trying to make up my mind.”

 

“Whether you should leave me?” Brian couldn’t understand why Justin wasn’t crumbling that moment.

 

“You said the Liberty Ride gave you time to think. Well I did a lot of thinking on the plane back from LA. And I  
decided to do it, because I didn’t think there was a chance that you would give me what I wanted. And the  
fucking second I get back, that’s exactly what you do.”

 

Brian turned away. He couldn’t get to the kitchen so he tried the lighter again. “Guess I still have a few surprises left, huh?”

 

Justin pushed on Brian’s shoulder, turning him around. “The exact moment I give up, you wanna take a chance.”

 

Brian turned away; his resolve slipping. “Timing is everything.”

 

Justin pushed again. “What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

 

Brian stepped aside. Justin wasn’t giving up, he wasn’t letting go. “You don’t have to do anything.”

 

Justin grabbed Brian with both hands. “I’ve never had a choice in where our relationship went. Ever. And you just   
decide to drop all of it in my lap, at the worst possible time. How fair is that?”

 

Brian pushed Justin’s hands away violently, shoving him back. “Fuck fair!”

 

Justin collided with the bathroom doorway and Brian froze. He watched the wind go out of Justin slightly.

 

Shit, he didn’t mean to do that.   
What the fuck! I’m not Gale; I care if you fall.

 

Justin slowly regained his footing.

 

“Justin?” Brian fought to hold Justin’s gaze while trying to hide the flood of remorse coursing through him.

 

Justin stood up from the door jam and approached Brian again. He stood up to Brian, close, as if he were  
waiting to be struck again. His stone expression burned relentlessly into Brian, unchanging as he spoke.   
“I made those nights special because I wanted to be sure what I was giving up. That I could give you up.   
I didn’t know if I could. I still don’t.” 

 

Brian’s will broke with the blink of an eye. Brian gave into the urge to touch Justin’s face. 

 

Justin snatched Brian’s wrist before it could touch his face and held it in the air. “But the true is, I don’t have to give   
anything up. I just have to come back. And I am coming back.” Justin quickly stepped to the side, kick Brian’s   
foot from under him and sent them both crashing down on the bed. Before Brian could spend another thought   
cursing the name Cody Bell, Justin straddled him and had both his hands over his head. “So as usually, you’re   
still the one in control. You’re the one with a choice to make Brian. Not me.”

 

Brian resisted Justin's hold briefly, then suddenly laid still, waiting to see what Justin would do next.

 

“But before you do, just remember; you’re mine. You could go to the moon and back Brian, but no one could ever   
kiss you, or suck you, or want you the way I do. So get over yourself.”

 

Brian was lost when Justin drove his tongue into his mouth. He tried to breathe while it toyed with his own  
tongue and danced across his lips. Intoxicated, he stopped struggling against the hands that had his wrists   
pressed into the mattress and let the sensation of Justin massaging their lips together remove all will or hope   
to resist. He knew he would lose this effort to drive Justin away. But he never thought losing so abysmally would   
have such a wonderful side-effect.

 

Justin pulled his mouth away; his breath was quivering. 

 

“Say you’ll wait for me.”

 

Brian was resigned to his defeat the moment Justin found a way to put his hands on him. But Brian didn’t want   
Justin’s victory to be too complete.

 

“You can save the Merchant Ivory goodbyes for Hollywood.”

 

“Say it,” Justin commanded.

 

Brian looked into Justin’s eyes, wanting to tell the blue pools exactly what they prompted, but found the slightest   
strength to resist.

 

“I’ll be here when you get back,” Brian answered. He tried to move his hands, but Justin instantly tightened the   
grip on his wrists once more, holding him down. 

 

Brian stopped struggling and let Justin stare at his face, lean over him and dive greedily into another wet kiss   
that soon traveled across his stubbled face and trailed down his neck. He arched his back, thrusting his pelvis   
upward, trying to coax Justin backward so his ass would rest against his cock. His rocking failed and Justin   
seemed busy at other sensational tasks along Brian’s jawline. 

 

“You know, if we’re gonna be in this position for a while, wouldn’t you rather be fucking?”

 

Justin came up for air, sitting lightly on Brian’s chest. Carefully, Justin leaned back on top of him, his ass resting   
on Brian's target. Slowly, Justin pulled his shirt over his head. “Daphne says that there are alternate realities  
everywhere. That if you can imagine or write about a place, than it probably exists somewhere. You know   
what that means, don’t you?”

 

“I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

 

Justin pulled his T-shirt over his head, slowly. “It means, somewhere, out there, Rage and JT exist.”

 

Brian smiled involuntarily, ridiculous. “According to the book of Daphne, you’re probably right.”

 

Justin rolled off Brian’s chest and worked his pants off his hips. “I haven’t told Michael yet, but I have an idea for   
another installment, maybe even one of the sequels for the movie.”

 

“Do you?” Brian asked, just noticing that somewhere in the course of the conversation, the voice had surfaced,   
and it was making his harder.

 

“We know Rage has been teaching JT about his mind control powers,” Justin began, taking his time kissing  
Brian’s damp neck. “But the true test of how powerful JT’s skills have gotten is in testing them on his teacher.”

 

“Oh, that’s dramatic.”

 

“So, that’s the idea.” Justin places a hand behind Brian’s shoulder, the other on his hip and begins to nudge   
him gently. “Of course the trick would maybe be on JT.” Justin continued alternating nudging and kissing. “Is he   
having his way with Rage because he’s controlling his mind, or is Rage making him think he’s in control?”  
Justin pressed his warm naked body against Brian’s, nudging. Justin sat up on one elbow, peeking over  
Brian’s shoulder to see his face. “What do you think?

 

Brian sighed, knowing he had no choice. He belonged to Justin. Tonight. Tomorrow. Always.

 

“I’ll let you know.” 

 

Brian craned his neck back and kissed Justin slowly, nuzzled against his chin and kissed his neck. Then he  
rolled over on his stomach, tucking a pillow under his arms. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the  
sensation of Justin’s tongue trailing down the length of his back.

 

Fuck, it’s gonna be a long six months.


End file.
